


The Series / Book of Hours

by irisbleufic



Series: The Still Point of the Turning World [3]
Category: Toy Soldiers (1991)
Genre: Boarding School, Boston, Canon Character of Color, Canonical Character Death, Established Relationship, First Time, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Growing Up, Italian Mafia, M/M, Massachusetts, New Jersey, New Orleans, New York, New York City, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Queer Themes, References to Shakespeare, Slash, Strength, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-24
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 22:11:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 309,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For every ending, there's a beginning—and plenty that comes after the ending, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stereotypical

**Author's Note:**

> BEFORE YOU READ: Chapters 1 through 18 fall _before_ the film and lead directly up to it, Chapter 19 falls _during_ the film (a collection of lost moments / filling in the gaps), and Chapters 20 and 21 (plus the few bonus add-ons I've written since) fall _after_ the film. So, for full effect, my advice would be to read Chapters 1 through 18, watch the film, and then proceed to read the rest. I didn't come out of writing this unharmed, but my promise stands—that, by the end, everything is as fine as it can get.
> 
> (Originally written and posted to LJ from March 2003 through February 2005.)

Whatever that shit was supposed to be, Joey wouldn't be eating it again. As far as he knew, the ingredients list of teriyaki stir fry didn't include leftover goulash. He dumped his tray with a satisfying clatter and shoved through a knot of freshmen taking too long at the soft-serve machine. 

"Hey! Watch it!" shouted one, but Joey was already past the double doors and storming up the hall. At least those peanuts didn't have the nerve to resort to name-calling, especially to a junior's face.

Joey ignored a greeting from some kid he recognized from trig; he was too furious to consider what kind of thing he might say in response to even something as harmless as _whatcha doing tonight?_ Joey kicked a stray pencil across the worn stone floor and turned into the stairwell that led up to the dorms. If Billy had shown up like he was supposed to, then maybe, just _maybe_ he would have had a tolerable dinner. Maybe he would have had a taste test's fair warning. Maybe he would've gotten a seat at their usual table, which had been overrun by a bunch of sophomores, and maybe he would've had the sense not to snap back at that little bastard's refusal to scoot over so that he could at least make do with Phil's company—

_"I said this seat's taken."_

_Joey wanted to shove that smirk right down the interloper's throat. "I don't see any of your buddies swarming to claim it."_

_Phil coughed on his milk and said, "Come on, Joey. Snuffy's around here somewhere. I'm sure he's saved you a spot."_

_"You think I haven't already looked?" Probably already off campus with Ric and Hank, son of a bitch with his easily acquired Friday passes. Thanks to Billy's latest stunt, they weren't going anywhere. "Look, would you tell your guest here that I just wanna eat and shoot the breeze for ten minutes?"_

_"Sorry, man. I promised Seth I'd give him a hand with his government homework."_

_Joey was in an even worse mood than he'd been five minutes before when Billy failed to meet him at the main entrance. He picked up the sophomore's—oh, excuse him, Seth's—textbook and glanced over the cover. "You're dumber than I thought if you're failing Peterson's section."_

_Seth was on his feet before Joey could slam the book back down beside his tray. "So you're saying you passed with flying colors, huh? I'll bet all you've gotta do is tell Daddy who's failing you, then—"_

_"What did you say?" Joey hissed, the book falling with a flutter of pages and landing with a slam as forceful as his fist clenched tight on Seth's collar._

_"N—Nothing!" Seth croaked, scrabbling at Joey's wrist._

_Phil grabbed Joey's elbow. "Jesus, man! Let him go."_

_"Jerk-off," Joey muttered, and complied. Last thing Billy needed was for both of them to be on probation. He took hold of his tray with both hands and walked away, weaving through the tables and trying to ignore the stares that the exchange had earned. And Seth's half-voiced insult that followed him the whole way across the cafeteria._

_"Fuckin' wop."_

 

Joey slammed the door, glancing guiltily around the room. Neither of his roommates were there, of course: apparently Phil planned to talk politics all evening with that wanker, and Billy, well, who the fuck knew where Billy was. Probably in Dean Parker's office for toilet papering the teachers' lounge during lunch, or some shit like that. Joey collapsed at his desk and closed his eyes, forehead in his hand. _Dammit, Billy, at least you could have taken me with you. Now I'm bored_ and _pissed._

One thing for sure, if that little bastard ever said another word about his father to his face, he'd—well, what he felt like doing to Seth probably didn't make him any better than his old man, so he cut that thought short. Joey looked up and squinted at the bright gold of evening filtering through the blinds onto Billy's bunk. Why did it always come to stifling these wild impulses? Why couldn't he prove that the stuff his Dad had been doing ever since he could remember wasn't some kind of genetic defect passed on to him? Joey looked away from the window and shut his desk drawer with an angry shove. _I'm not like that, I swear. I'm not, I don't wanna be, I never will be._

Yeah right. Joey got up and paced around the room, flooded with memories. He remembered his father explaining something to him very calmly when he was no more than twelve, after Gianni Scorso's father—as dear to him as his blood uncle, till he knew better—disappeared: _When certain people don't come around here anymore, they're not likely to come back. It means they've done wrong by us, and when someone does wrong by you and yours, Joseph, that's not acceptable. There's punishment for that. Promise me you'll remember, son. I'll always take care of you and your mother._

Hard? Oh, it got hard, all right. It eventually got so hard that his mother didn't live to see another two years. At fourteen, he'd really understood. Really and finally, for the first time, that his father's position was the most revolting thing in the world, or maybe in the entire universe. There might be worse things, but— _but if I could ask you, Mom, I'm sure you'd tell me a bullet to the head in an open street because you're a rival don's wife just isn't the way to go._

Joey bit his lip and braced himself against the closet door. He was _not_ going to cry. He hadn't been this upset for a while, and he had hoped things would stay like that. Hell, he'd hoped the soccer field incident would remain the last—with just over a year and a half left at Regis, what else could go wrong, really? He ranked third in his class, and if he could help it, he'd be graduating salutatorian. Not to make his father proud, for sure. His mother, maybe, if she was watching. Snuffy and the guys would be proud; so would Phil, in a roundabout sort of way, content that his own mediocrity didn't come anywhere near Billy's careless academics. _Billy, here the fuck are you? Would you kick my ass if I graduated with honors?_ Yeah, then hug the breath out of him.

Joey sniffed hard and wiped his nose on his cuff, retreating back to his desk. He didn't need his father; he never had. He had family right here, half a dozen brothers more worthy of his love than that Mafia bastard. Honest to fucking God. He'd show his Dad what he was working up to, and that certainly did _not_ include running around with a gun hidden in his jacket. Maybe he'd be a lit professor someday, or go into art history if he could just get a handle on those damn oil paints. He'd better just stick with sketching and figure out whether it's British or American lit he likes best. Or maybe music theory; Mickel's class last semester had kicked ass.

Joey rummaged through the bin full of tapes and CDs that he and Billy shared in the lower left-hand corner of the closet. There was this opera, this one song that always pissed his roommates off as much as it always cooled his nerves. It wasn't anything like _Le Nozze di Figaro_ , all lighthearted comedy and shit. Donizetti really had something when he composed _Lucia di Lammermoor_ , especially in that aria at the beginning of act three. Joey located the tape and carried it over to his desk. He popped it into his stereo and hit play, leaning back in his chair as the soprano's clear tones cut into his swarming thoughts—he mustn't have rewound it completely the last time. He liked this part, though. Man, Callas had everything...

 

_Un gelo me serpeggia nel sen!_  
Trema ogni fibra!  
Vacilla il pie! 

 

"Yeah, you got it," he said to the speakers, turning up the volume. _A chill creeps into my breast—trembles every fiber, falters my foot!_ It really was like that, thinking of everything at once. He could understand a good bit of Italian, but not because his father had taught him, _hell_ no. His father had grown up in a bilingual household, but had he bothered to learn his native tongue? Pretentious fucker. Joey had taken four semesters and had also neglected to tell him. It wasn't even like Ric knowing Spanish. Joey had to _work_ for what should have been his by right: not wealth, not status, not fucking shoot-'em-up intrigues, or whatever the hell they think they're doing. A language, a fucking _language_. Is that too paltry an inheritance to leave your son?

Joey closed his eyes and leaned forward, resting his head against his forearm. _Qui ricovriamo_ , Callas sang. _Let us take refuge_. Here? Well, he had thought school would be like that. It was for a little while, till the whispers got around that Parker had accepted—had accepted _him_. He traced the bent corner of a piece of paper with his thumb, tried to smooth it flat. That was probably Billy's latest inept composition left for heavy proofing and editing. Joey was aware that without his help, Billy would probably be failing. At least he had enough sense to ask for help with work, sometimes, rather than with pranks. Of course, those pranks were usually fun, Joey had to admit. And he'd thought up a few of them in his own right. He'd never forget how Billy's eyes lit up at the suggestion of bang snaps lining the toilet seats as a grace note to the cherry bombs. _That's brilliant! I'll make a delinquent of you yet._

 _If your ass doesn't get here soon, you won't be making a thing of me this weekend._ Joey yawned and blinked at the blur of his arm, at the slats of light falling longer and thinner against the far wall as Callas sang Lucia's frightening ascent into madness. That was one thing that made sense to him, more sense than if those wild runs had plummeted jaggedly down. Panic and fury had such buoyancy to them, such _wings_. It made even more sense when he saw it in Billy—indignant, irrational bristling at Parker every time he's caught. For the times he'd been there as a bystander, participant, anything; there was nothing more thrilling than Billy's defiant spirit in the face of the wrong that he'd done. Joey couldn't ever explain it to him, though, and besides, Billy hadn't exactly just taken a knife to somebody. And he wasn't a soprano, that much was clear every time he threatened a falsetto unless Joey would just _turn that damn opera down, I can hear it through my headphones! But I'm glad you've got some culture, Trotta._

Joey always smiled at that. It was sort of like Billy always holding the door for him, or taking the full rap when Joey hoped to go on one of the Saturday bus trips to Boston for an afternoon at the MFA. As much as Billy looked after him, Joey looked forward to making Billy smile, too. It was an unspoken agreement, almost—things just _worked out_. If he really thought about it, Joey hadn't actually asked anything in return for cleaning up Billy's blunders on paper. Friends just shouldn't do that. It was something his father wouldn't understand, doing someone a favor without asking anything in return. It was a labor of— 

"Could you turn that off? My head's pounding."

Joey sat up straight as Phil burst into the room. He must've been telling the truth about his head—he looked a little strained. Joey's hand moved hesitantly to the volume, turning it down a fraction. "Not _off_ ," he insisted. "Mine's not much better, if you know what I'm saying."

Phil sighed and crossed the room, started rummaging through a drawer for a fresh shirt. "Yeah, okay. I'm sorry about that. I didn't know Seth would talk to you like that."

"Phil, lots of people talk to me like that. I swear you'd have to be deaf—"

"Which is a distinct possibility, if that broad sings for another minute," Billy announced, lounging in the doorway. He saluted brusquely. "Hey."

"Her name's Maria," Joey said irritably. 

"I'm sure it is," Phil said under his breath.

" _Jesus!_ " Joey shouted, rising to his feet so suddenly that Billy actually retreated into the hall a step. "She was _Greek_. Go ask Mickel for some help with your fucking music history."

"I don't take music history," Phil said pointedly, stripping out of his t-shirt and shrugging into a fresh button-down. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going out tonight."

"Sounds like a good idea," Billy said evenly, but his eyes were on Joey, expression caught somewhere between amused and alarmed.

"Yeah, good luck," Phil said, grabbing his wallet off the dresser. "Our Joey's a walking temper tantrum today."

Joey snarled. "Fuck you! That's right, run along and babysit your little racist dickhead—"

Billy stepped into the room and grabbed his shoulder. "Phil, just get out of here. I'll take care of him. But if your friends don't have any manners, it might help if you kept them to yourself."

Joey stood there shaking, stilled by Billy's hand. His tone of voice wasn't nearly as angry as Joey would have liked it to be, but it had enough of an edge that Phil was irritated with both of them now, his movements quick and clipped as he gathered up some spare change and fetched his jacket from the closet. He pushed past Billy and slipped out the door.

"Have fun," he called over his shoulder. Sounded more like he meant _go to hell_.

Joey took a deep breath as Billy let go of his shoulder, watching him close the door after Phil. Then he turned around and ran his fingers through his hair, and Joey noticed that it was faintly damp with sweat. He must have run all the way there.

"What was that all about?" Billy asked.

Joey glanced at the floor and leaned back over his desk, turning the stereo's sound back up. "If you'd been at dinner, you would know."

Billy made an exasperated sound. "Well, unfortunately, I _wasn't_. Parker had a few useless things to say, and then he had a few useless sports trophies for me to polish."

Joey couldn't help but grin, and he turned the dial back again in order to hear Billy speak. "What was that for?"

"Um, I cheated."

"On what?" Joey asked, looking up sharply. If it was that trig quiz they'd spent so much time on, he'd—

"You think I'm going to tell you when you've got that look in your eyes? Uh-uh."

Joey took a deep breath, pounding his fist against the desk. "Fine. But honest to God, we went through that stuff half a dozen—"

"I'm sorry." Billy looked as guilty as Phil should have.

"Nah, it's...it's okay. I just wondered where you were, man. You know? Like—I've had the shittiest day. That's all."

Billy frowned at him, then smiled wryly, stepping up closer to the desk. "That makes two of us, but I think yours was worse. Wanna tell me about it or anything?"

"Nothing to tell," Joey muttered, "except that Phil's taken to hanging out with underage assholes with grades worse than yours."

Billy whistled, shaking his head with one of those mock-impressed twists of his lips. "I must say, he's got standards."

"Yeah," Joey retorted. "Sophomores. At _our_ table."

Billy sucked in his breath, eyes wide. "The nerve!"

"Don't be so fucking sarcastic. It's not funny."

Instead of laughing like Joey was sure he'd been about to, Billy pulled a straight face. "I'm sure it's not, if they said what I think they've said."

Joey leaned heavily on the desk and folded his arms, feeling defensive all over again. "I'm not gonna repeat it."

Billy's eyes darkened. "I won't ask you to, either," he said.

"Thanks," Joey murmured. 

Billy nodded, and there was a beat of awkward silence. He nodded toward the stereo and said, "You play that when you're upset about your Dad."

Joey looked up. _How the fuck would you know?_

"Or just when you're really upset, and anyway, there's not a lot that upsets you as much as that," Billy continued hastily. "Jesus, Joey. You're so tense that it hurts just looking at you. Sit down or something."

"I was till Phil got here."

"He's not here anymore," Billy pointed out logically.

"Smartass," Joey muttered, tugging his chair away from the desk with a grimace. When had his shoulders cramped up like that, anyway?

Billy circled around him and grabbed the chair away, setting it down firmly. "What you need," he said matter-of-factly, "is a shoulder rub."

"Yeah right," Joey said, reaching to turn off the music. "I'd end up with a few bones cracked if I let you."

"Then don't _let_ me, and you'll be just fine," Billy reassured him, grabbing him by the shoulders and steering him over to the edge of the bottom bunk. "C'mon, have a seat." When Joey resisted, Billy tugged him down, scooting up behind him and starting in on his shoulders with energetic hands. "Joey, for crying out loud. _Relax_."

"Fine," Joey sighed, slumping with a sigh. He didn't get very far; Billy's hands held him up in a state of loose motion, strong fingers methodically seeking out the worst spots and attacking them with vigor. It hurt a bit, but Joey had to admit it felt good. Which meant, of course, that he couldn't let Billy off the hook for being so fucking _right_ all the time about practical shit. "Hey, so what am I doing on _your_ bed?" Joey asked peevishly. "Doesn't common courtesy dictate that I ought to be in my own?"

"Common courtesy," Billy explained patiently, "doesn't take into account that yours is all the fucking way up there, and it's easier for me to settle your ass down _here_."

Joey opened his mouth, then shut it again. Whatever Billy was doing, it didn't just feel good. It felt fucking amazing. He'd never really considered the fact that, while _Il dolce suono_ had always worked wonders for his sanity, it had never quite managed to iron the accompanying kinks out of his body. Maybe it even contributed to them while he wasn't paying attention, which Billy had done a very good job of pointing out that he just, well, _didn't_. Ever. Joey closed his eyes, breath escaping on a sigh.

"Too hard?" Billy asked, gentling his touch slightly.

"Uh, no," Joey responded, his mind slow to catch up. _Damn, Billy. You could put a charging rhino into a coma._

"Good," Billy said, "because what I really think you need is _harder_."

"If you're sure— _ah_ —um, right," Joey said, swallowing hard. That knot in his left shoulder must've taken aeons to tie, and Billy seemed determined to undo it. "Just don't pull a sword of Damocles on me or anything."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Go review summerterm's mythology notes."

"Unfortunately, I can't do that right now," Billy replied with a hint of laughter in his voice.

"No shit," Joey murmured, closing his eyes again. The pain in his left shoulder was almost gone.

"It must really piss you off," Billy said unexpectedly. "I have the feeling there must have been some serious ass to kick. And I'll bet you just let him go."

"What was I supposed to do? Start a fight in the middle of the cafeteria over some stupid name-calling?" Joey's neck prickled, but Billy's hand found its way there instantly, as if to soothe it away.

"Look, I happen to know that in _your_ book, the kind of stuff you've been called goes beyond that. I don't need to give examples, do I?"

"You do and I'll just make a wreck of all the fine work you've just done, thank you very much."

Billy clucked his tongue, bearing down harder with both hands. "You already have. You're tense again already, cut that out."

"Why'd you have to bring it up?" Joey snapped, entertaining the thought of pulling away—well, maybe as soon as Billy finished with _that_ —

"Because I fucking worry, okay? Is that against the law?"

Joey blinked, flexing his fingers against the rumpled sheets they were sitting on. "Nah," he sighed. "Ignore me. I can't deal. I'll be paying a fucking masseuse for the rest of my life."

"Not if you get married," Billy pointed out casually.

Joey laughed shortly. "That's a good one, Billy." _You think the chicks were swarming to date Don Trotta's only son? You naive son of a bitch._

"Just a thought," Billy said. "It would save you a hell of a lot of money."

"Like I need to worry about that," Joey said bitterly.

"Why do you take it from him?"

"Because I have no fucking job, and I'd rather have him pay to keep me the fuck _away_ from him."

Something in Billy's movements let Joey know he'd nodded, as if to say that made sense. "You've got that benefit right now."

"Yeah, but I won't be here for much longer. Graduation's the year after next. What the hell will I do then?"

"Go to college?"

Joey groaned. "God, applying to places like _this_ was enough of a nightmare."

"Oh, come on. I'll bet Harvard will be begging you to go there. They'd even pay you."

"Cut it out." Joey's throat felt tight. He hadn't really expected this sort of encouragement, let alone the shoulder rub. A damn _good_ shoulder rub—"Hey!"

"You asked me to cut it out," Billy replied, drawing his hands away.

"I meant..." Meant what, the _dumb advice?_ Joey bit his lip on the rest of what he had intended to say. _You fucking idiot, at least_ someone _cares._ "I never get that sort of thing at home. That kind of talk, I mean. It's all these—these really fucked-up references to how I'm supposed to carry on the the name and whatnot, except I know it means more."

"There's nothing wrong with your name."

"Bull _shit_."

Billy paused again, and he leaned forward over Joey's shoulder enough to look him in the eye. "It's not your fault."

"My inheritance is _fucked_ and there's not a _fucking thing_ I can do about it! And I might as well take take all my sketchbooks and go into hiding and be a hermit for the rest of my goddamned life, because you couldn't pay someone to get mixed up with a _fuckin' wop!_ "

Nearly as soon as Joey was aware that he was shaking all over, Billy's hands were warm and firm on his shoulders, stroking downward to his elbows, a gesture so purely instinctive that, in retrospect, Billy probably didn't realize it, either. There was also the unexpected warmth of Billy's breath close to his ear, the soothing steadiness of his voice. 

"No one pays Snuffy and Hank, Joey. Or Ric."

Joey bit his lip, shocked to find that his eyes stung. "So what? They can't help it that they go to the same fucking school as I do."

Billy took a breath as if to speak again, then paused.

"Oh, so that's how it is," Joey said in disgust, making an attempt to dislodge himself from Billy's grasp. His friend held firm.

"You're fucking ridiculous," Billy sighed, letting his head drop in frustration. It landed rather hard against Joey's shoulder, and he felt Billy's breath ghost against the back of his neck. _Shit_.

Joey shivered. "So who pays _you?_ "

"Nobody, you moron." More soft breath as Billy slid his hands back up to Joey's shoulders, suddenly tense and uncertain himself. He could feel dampness, as if Billy's lips were still parted. 

"Fuck. I'm sorry," Joey sighed. He shivered again; since when had this turned so strange? _Do something, you idiot. I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do. You have all the answers here._

"It's all right," Billy said, and he lifted his head just enough that his mouth left an unintentional caress against the very spot he'd been breathing on. "You—um, do you feel better now?"

Joey's mind was blank, and he couldn't seem to control his trembling. "I think—well, not my arms," he faltered. _What the hell does that mean?_

Billy's fingers slid back down to his elbows again, this time slower about it. "Oh, right."

"And maybe—" Joey flushed "—my neck's still pretty bad."

Billy's fingers held on for a moment longer, then slid back up to his shoulders, massaging little circles on the way this time. He felt— _Jesus!_ —Billy's lips touch his neck again, warm and dry this time. "Yeah. I can feel that." Damp breath again, soft puffs of it while he spoke. "Are you cold or something?"

"No," Joey said numbly. "Just..." _Fucking lonely, and now you're finally here and there's this shit and oh God would you please just keep touching me?_

"Like this?" Billy asked softly, massaging his way back down to Joey's elbows once more, and then—

 _You did_ not _just kiss my neck._ Joey jerked back against the sensation, eyes shut tightly. He couldn't possibly—must have just brushed—

Billy's fingers tightened midway up his arms, and his breath was shallow and damp against the spot his lips had just touched with lingering intent. "Tell me...uh, when it doesn't feel good, okay?"

"Yeah," Joey agreed, finding his own breath too choked for a proper response. Except that not a damn part of it hadn't felt good, and he somehow doubted any of it wouldn't, as unsettling and exciting as the prospect was.

"Okay," Billy said, the sound perfectly muffled because, well, Joey didn't have a doubt in the world this time that Billy was kissing his neck. Slow, easy little pecks back and forth across Joey's nape while his hands continued firm strokes up and down his arms, even daring down past his elbows this time, almost to his wrists. "Tense down here, too?" he asked, mumbling into Joey's hair.

"You talk too much," Joey heard himself say, wondering if this was Billy's idea of some twisted fake-out reparation for having stood him up at dinnertime. If it was, then he could just forget— _forget what?_ "If you're not really going to..."

"You think I actually planned this?" Billy's hands loosened, falling away. He sounded lost.

Impulsively, Joey grabbed his hands. "You never plan _anything_ unless it's to get under Parker's skin."

"So, I guess...an impromptu Friday night's all right with you?"

"Like we can actually leave campus while you're suspended," Joey reminded him, shivering through some more kisses. God, Billy's mouth was warm.

"What's stopping you, Joey?"

Joey squeezed Billy's hands hard enough to crack his knuckles. "What d'you think?" _I'm gonna die here if you don't hurry up and—_

Billy yanked his hands free of Joey's grasp and managed to turn him around, and Joey could see for the first time just how much darker Billy's eyes had gotten. It was partly the falling shadows and partly the way that the remaining slivers of gold caught like sparks in his hair, throwing everything into sharp contrast. Sharper than a pencil point pricked hastily to his tongue, sharper than Maria's frantic staccato. Had they really been heading for this, sooner or later? Joey wasn't about to complain. Billy had him on fire worse than that clumsy kiss he'd shared with Maria Carbone, and— _fuck, Billy, where'd you learn how to do that?_

Somewhere, that was for damn sure. Joey responded to the press of lips against his own with a gasp of surprise, opening just enough to allow the hesitant dip of Billy's tongue, which shocked him at first, that something like that could taste so completely of the person responsible for it without being directly related to any of the things that it tasted like on some warped emotional level— _trust, mmm, need, laughter, love_. Things that you don't think about on a day to day basis, things that make you realize you take your closest friend for granted when you can finally taste them on his tongue and in his mouth and know that there are few things that you've wanted as much as this, as much as wanting to tell him everything without actually saying it, to drag him down close and make him taste the same things in yourself, in the very least hoping he'll find them there. _And your chances of that are damn good, aren't they, because he started this—this—_

"Joey," Billy mumbled before their tongues brushed again, "if... _dammit_ , you taste like..."

"Supposed to be teriyaki," Joey managed, tangling his fingers in Billy's hair.

"Thank you for that— _umm_ —enlightening tidbit, but that's not what I—"

"I know what you meant."

"Oh," Billy panted, pulling away again, but only briefly, braced over him on both elbows. "Good."

After that, Billy didn't seem much inclined to talk, and Joey was grateful. It was easier that way, almost—to just nod and gasp when Billy's hands creeping up under his shirt felt good, sort of shivery over his stomach and braver across his chest with light pinches at his nipples, and _wow_ could it really feel that exhilerating, or was it just that sort of hungry-sloppy nibbling at his earlobe that sent tremors down his— _hey!_

Billy turned his head away and spat on the pillow. Clink of metal, glint of silver. "At least it looks good on you. Can't say the same for how it tastes."

"Asshole, now I'll never find the back," Joey said, his words fragmented by unexpected laughter. "You never find your socks in these sheets, let alone— _Billy!_ "

All things considered, his earring wasn't really important in light of the fact that one of Billy's hands was busy working the button of his jeans free and the other curled under his head, fingers slipping through his hair, holding him to a bruising kiss. This was the kind of thing you dreamed of when everything was all heat and passion and no thought, wasn't it, just mouth to mouth and warm deft fingers finding where you ache the most, right there, then a moment of confused protest while your pants get tugged away, and then... _then_...

"Just like...um, like before, tell me if..."

 _No_ , Joey wanted to shout, _it doesn't feel bad, dammit, how could it when those are your fingers on my dick and I think I can't take another minute of it?_ He jerked up into Billy's hand and for long moments couldn't think of anything except how hard he was coming and how maybe he'd have to be a perfect stereotypical asshole and drift blissfully off to sleep after. _Billy, don't let me fall—_

" _Billy!_ "

"Shhh, yeah." Soft, gentle breath at his ear. Fingers in his hair again, stroking carefully.

"Fuck," Joey whispered, curling against the warmth settled somewhere to the left of him, finding that Billy's arm was perfectly willing to slip around him and pull him close, almost protectively. "D'you think...anybody heard..."

"I doubt it," Billy said, and Joey could hear the strain in his voice, didn't need eyes to see from where his head was tucked against Billy's shoulder that he was hard. _Mmm_. Didn't need eyes to untuck Billy's shirt, either, or to coax whimpers out of him with shaky fingers run up his side and over his chest and down to his bellybutton. "Look, I—"

"Shut _up_ ," Joey groaned, nuzzling clumsily at Billy's lips before taking another kiss. If _getting_ it felt that great, then _giving_ it—well, would be a lot easier once he got into Billy's pants, but that really didn't take too long once he realized it was a snap rather than a button. _Dammit, Billy_. He was laughing.

"Cat got your fingers?"

"I'd like to see you try that when you're—" _Ha! Got it_. Joey bit at Billy's lower lip, enjoying the strangled sound that Billy made once he'd worked his hand into those silky red boxers. Billy's cock felt hot and solid in his hand, skin as fine as he'd imagined antique satin behind glass at the museum. Stupid thought to have while touching himself, once, but now it seemed sort of applicable. It wasn't really the same at all: Joey had never heard anyone gasp his name like _that_ before.

"Joey..."

"Yeah, I'm here," he whispered, discovering how easy it was to murmur stuff like that, all tender and maybe a bit romantic, while Billy stifled a shout against the pillow and made an absolute mess of Joey's fingers and the sheets. Simple, really, to want to hold him and— _oh, just admit it_ —cuddle his shaking away. Just like that, long soothing strokes up and down Billy's back. His skin was even warmer than his mouth.

"Whatsisname. Called you all that shit earlier?" Billy asked abruptly, catching his breath against Joey's cheek.

"Seth. I ought to slap you for bringing that up right now."

"He's a goner."

Joey flushed again, though he had thought that was pretty much impossible, given his present condition. "That guy who smacks your ass in the locker room—McAllister?"

Billy made a _pht_ sound and kissed Joey hard. "Yeah, I think so. He'll get what's coming one of these days."

Joey smirked. "Maybe I'll expedite the process."

"You'd never," Billy murmured, sounding drowsy. His embrace tightened just a little.

"Nah." Sweaty shirts and sticky hands aside, Joey was too comfortable to move.


	2. The Art of Persuasion

Every Sunday, without fail, it happened. If Billy had been within reach of smashing Phil's alarm clock, he would've done so without hesitation. If he had anything to say about it, that thing would've been a mess of springs and gears and whatever other shit they put in electronic clocks nowadays. Billy wouldn't know, as he'd spent most of his time studiously dismantling phones and radios for purposes Joey had called "contraband". He'd laughed his ass off at that. He sure wasn't laughing his ass off now, though. Phil hadn't hit snooze yet, and he was _pissed_.

"Hey, Phil!" Billy shouted, pulling his covers up over his head. "Rise and shine."

No response, more wailing _beeps_.

"Hey, asshole, are you going to church or not? Do me a favor and skip."

Rustling from Phil's side of the room, the sound of creaking springs and a jaw-popping yawn. "Shove it, Billy. I'm up."

"Thank _God_ ," Billy retorted, burrowing deeper into his pillow.

"Would you guys shut up? I can sleep at least another half an hour," Joey interrupted groggily.

"Sorry, man," Billy yawned. "You guys can keep your Sunday school. Fucking nuts."

"Whatever," Phil said, and Billy heard him whisk a towel off the holder on his side of the room. "I'm hitting the shower. Sweet dreams."

"Yeah, and a wet one to you," Joey called after him.

Once the door was closed, Billy pushed his covers down and reached up to knock on the bottom of Joey's bunk. "Don't tell me you guys didn't bother to straighten stuff out yesterday."

Billy heard Joey's mattress creak, then his face appeared, framed by mussed dark hair. His hand appeared, pushing some of it back from his forehead. "When d'you think I got a chance to talk to him? Or that I _wanted_ to?"

Billy propped himself up on one elbow and shrugged. "I dunno, but you're not doing anyone a favor by letting it go."

Joey made a face. "I'm touched, Billy. At least the guy who pinched all of Seth the Politically Impaired's functioning batteries and put toothpaste in his shoes is concerned with doing the other offender a _favor_ "

"Joey, relax. Besides, that was just round one. This is different," Billy said, raising one hand cautiously. Joey looked about ready to pound him. "What I mean is, since you _live_ with Phil, and since he couldn't really have _known_ that Jerk-off would offend you, I think you ought to make peace. That's all."

Joey pursed his lips, then let his breath out in a hiss. "I'll apologize when he does."

Billy flopped on his back and yanked the covers back up over his head. "You," he said firmly, "are fucking stubborn." _And so fucking gorgeous when you're mad that I wish it were Friday all over again_.

Joey's blankets rustled, and Billy heard a creak that meant Joey had set foot on the ladder. "And I can't figure you out, okay? I've gotta get ready."

Billy sat up and crawled forward, catching both of Joey's ankles the minute his other foot appeared on the rung.

" _Hey!_ " Joey's voice shook, and Billy could feel him trembling, clinging to the bedposts for balance.

Billy shushed him, gentling his grip. "Come here."

"Let _go_ , Billy."

"Where are you going? For Christ's sake, lighten up," Billy said, tightening his hold again. "The minute someone wants to apologize, you're on your way out the door."

He could almost hear Joey's jaw clench. "Mass is at 8:15."

"Why the hell do you bother do go?"

"I like the music," Joey said matter-of-factly, wrenching his right foot free.

"You skipped last week," Billy reminded him.

"Yeah. I skip when I want to." Joey wiggled his left foot. 

Billy sighed and let go. He watched Joey climb down and jump the last few rungs. Joey caught his balance against the bedpost and yawned, cheek pressed to the worn wood. In the dim light, Billy could see he had on the worn-out tee from some New Jersey art festival that he'd been wearing the day they met. That had been the first day of summer semester, and Billy had never before set foot in the Regis School. He remembered finding room 203 with its door wide open, dropping his duffel bag at the threshold, and startling the dark-haired boy already seated at the desk next to the double bunk. Flipping through a battered sketchbook, spare pencil tucked behind his ear...

 

_"Hey, roomie," Billy began awkwardly. "So, this is where you and me and—" Billy pulled one of the paper stars off the door and read the third occupant's name aloud "—Donoghue live, huh?"_

_"Yeah," said the boy at the desk. "But they must've made some kind of mistake. He won't be here till fall. Summer at Regis is pretty much geeks and losers, but he's some government bigshot's kid."_

_Billy stuck the star back on the door and glanced at the other one. Tepper, W. Billy took it down and asked, "So who're you?"_

_"Joseph Trotta," the boy said, turning around. "Joey."_

_"Geek or loser?"_

_"I suppose you'll find out, huh? What about you?"_

_Billy shrugged. "I suppose you will, too."_

_"Fair enough," Joey said, shrugging._

_Billy nodded, picking up his duffel bag and stepping into the room, glancing around. Walls pretty bare—well, they'd fix that. Bottom bunk mattress already neatly made up. Billy pointed to the bunks and asked, "That yours?"_

_Joey swiveled back to whatever he'd been drawing. "First come, first served."_

_Billy tossed his duffel bag on the top mattress, sighing in resignation. "Fair enough."_

_"Thanks," Joey said, and when Billy looked up again, he'd turned around completely, pencil still poised in his left hand. "You afraid of heights?"_

_Billy shrugged. "I wouldn't say I'm afraid."_

_Joey smirked at him. "If you are, just say so. I'm not."_

_"Got something to prove?" Billy asked, trying not to sound defensive. Fuck, he had the nicest eyes._

_Joey raised both hands in the air, pencil dangling from thumb and forefinger. "No, man—I'm just saying, if you really don't like it, I'll trade you."_

_"Oh," Billy said. He glanced at the sketchbook, where several puzzle-like fragments of brick wall were taking shape, then back at Joey._

_That was the first time Billy had ever seen him smile._

 

Joey yawned again, still clinging to the bedpost. "I'm wiped. Why'd we have to do it at midnight, huh?"

"Because that was the only time I could get Seth's kind roomie to bring everything to the stairwell. Don't be so picky. We got enough batteries for a couple of months out of the deal," Billy reminded him. "You can take Maria on the road now, if you want."

"Yeah, thanks," Joey murmured, making a useless grab for his own towel hanging on the closet door. It slithered to the floor under his unusually clumsy touch. "Shit."

Billy bit back a laugh and crawled to the foot of the bed, grabbing the hand that Joey had left braced against the bedpost. "Hey," he said quietly, tugging at it.

Joey tried to pull away, but not that hard. "Phil's gonna be back pretty soon." He turned around, towel forgotten, looking sort of pensive as he returned Billy's gaze.

"So? We'll wait till he's gone," Billy said, drawing Joey's hand up to his lips for a second before dropping it. "You know how long his service is. UU or Congregationalist or whatever. They do all kinds of stuff, right? Mass has the right idea. In and out."

Joey was trying pretty hard not to grin. "You're an asshole, Billy."

"That's not fair," Billy pouted. "You haven't even given me the chance to prove you wrong."

"Yeah right," Joey said, and made a quick, decisive move for the ladder, taking hold and hoisting himself back up. "This had better be good."

Billy sat and watched till he was out of sight, settling on the creaky mattress above. "Go back to sleep. I'll get you when he's gone."

"Can't sleep now," Joey muttered, dangling his hand over the edge just long enough to flip him off.

"Aw, you too, honey," Billy cooed, crawling back to his own pillows. _Get your ass back here and out the door, Phil_.

For long moments, he lay silent, listening to the occasional stir overhead. Joey was a restless sleeper, and Billy knew that once he was up, falling back again was easier said than done. More than one night he'd stayed awake to whisper in the dark, talking with Joey till his distracted mind drifted off again. Then there were the nights when he lay awake for a different reason, straining to hear some sound, any sound above the tightly controlled shifting and rustling that might mean Joey was jerking off. Usually there was none, and Billy would grit his teeth over the thought of Joey's expression caught in fierce, silent pleasure. He had never been very good at keeping himself quiet, but thinking about Joey made it even harder. They didn't torment each other the way that Snuffy and Hank did, not exactly—if anything, they were more likely to gang up on Phil. When the tightass actually gave them something to work with. He wasn't much fun to tease.

Billy turned to face the window when he heard the doorknob turn, stifling his shallow breaths in the pillow. The fact that Phil took his time getting ready was usually a pain, but this time, it was an even bigger one. He heard Joey roll over, too, and saw his hand slip over the edge of the bunk, dangling carlessly. Billy caught himself wondering if Joey would rest easier if someone held him. Suddenly animated, his hand tapped the wooden siding impatiently. Phil was rummaging through some more drawers.

He left without a word to either of them. Probably thought they were asleep, Billy guessed. He sat up slowly, about to call out to Joey, but his mattress was already shifting, and soon enough, he half climbed and half leapt down the ladder, peering through the darkness at Billy. Man, he looked silly in those striped boxers. Not his style at all, but for as much as Joey was particular about a lot of things, over others, he really couldn't have cared less. Like those fucking silly frogs on a couple of his other pairs. 

"Did he forget his Bible and stuff?" Joey asked cautiously.

Billy glanced at Donohue's bedstand. "No." Another beat of silence, then he threw his covers down hastily.

"Good," Joey said absently, crawling into bed beside Billy. He sat there for a moment, dark eyes still sleepy and thoughtful, less annoyed now. "Don't you get cold?" he asked unexpectedly.

Billy glanced down, considering his shirtlessness with a shrug. "Not really."

"Yeah, well, I think the heating here sucks, especially in the fall," Joey said, and sure enough he was pulling the covers up and snuggling down against Billy's pillow for warmth. He fixed Billy with a steady, inquiring look. "So?"

 _Right_. Billy settled close beside him and leaned so that their lips almost brushed. "So, I thought you might rest easier down here or something," he said lamely.

Much to Billy's surprise, Joey slipped a hand over his side and up his back, finally clasping his nape. "I thought maybe..." He craned his neck enough to kiss Billy, not timidly, not at all like before. Warm and sweet and _Jesus_ he really could kiss when he put his mind to it. Joey pulled back, a little breathless. "So—yeah. You might just be better than Mass."

"I also have to prove I'm not a complete asshole," Billy reminded him. He wondered at how easy it was to tuck an arm around Joey—like it wasn't really girly or stupid or anything. Just kind of sexy, especially when Joey's eyes went all half-lidded like that. "You warm now?" Joey didn't blink. He just kept _looking_ at him. 

Billy took a deep breath and kissed him again. _Dammit, Joey, you taste like_... He wasn't even sure what he'd almost said on Friday, but it was something good, really fucking good. Curtis Wyler drunk and making a pass at him back at Emerson—that didn't count anymore. That he'd maybe kissed him back and liked it a little bit? No _fucking_ way. Billy felt Joey's attentive fingers creeping back down to his shoulderblades, settling in a palm-flat sprawl. _Pushing_ at him. His breath caught between kisses, and he tugged Joey closer, daring to stroke down his thigh and hook his fingers under Joey's knee, tugging it up and over his hip. Joey made a startled sound against his mouth, breathing quickly. Billy eased away and dropped his head to Joey's shoulder. _Since when did I want you so badly?_

"I think I'd better..." Joey was struggling out of his shirt, and Billy lay back enough to watch it ruffle his hair, then grabbed it out of his hand and tossed it on the floor. Joey smirked a little— _fuck, why'd you have to do that, I think that's what made me want to kiss you in the first place_ —and set his lips against Billy's neck. "Someone's impatient."

"Look who's the asshole now," Billy retorted, flipping Joey on his back so quickly that for a second his eyes were actually wide with apprehension before Billy brushed his hair back and covered his mouth in a breathless kiss. And it was impossible to ignore how Joey's skin felt, smooth and burning against his own, and that he was damp and hard through the thin cotton of his boxers. Billy gave him a cautious squeeze, but Joey pushed his hand away.

"Do you want this to last or not?" Joey asked shakily, sneaking a vengeful grope. The touch felt as great as it did before, and Billy stifled a moan against Joey's neck. Fuck, he wouldn't be able to keep quiet. No way in _hell_ , especially not by the time those clever fingers found his skin. He tugged Joey's hand away and pinned it at his side.

"Yeah, I do," Billy responded hoarsely. Joey's free hand still rested on his back, stroking him steadily now and then, almost curious. "So, um..." He tugged lightly at Joey's waistband. "On or off?"

"What do you think?" Joey asked, sounding more than a little impatient. "No guarantee either way."

Billy almost laughed. "I'll take my chances, thanks," he said, rolling away to struggle out of his boxers. He kicked them somewhere deep under the covers and turned back to help Joey, stuck somewhere halfway with his own. _Those long legs_. _No wonder he can run with the best of 'em_.

"What're you staring at?" Joey asked defiantly as Billy slipped his boxers free of his ankles. "It's not like you haven't seen my dick every week since June."

Billy clucked his tongue, running his index finger up the length of Joey's erection. "This is kinda different, wouldn't you say?"

Joey breathed out hard, squirming under his touch. "Yeah, sort of. _Billy_ ," he gasped, "cut it out. Fucking tease."

Billy stopped and dropped his hand to the sheets, not in the much in the mood for it anyway. He wished it were lighter, so that he cold see Joey more clearly, but even in the dark, he was warm and close, familiar, and something more, too. Always so tense and graceful if he could help it, and now he was awkward and uncertain, but not because Billy was kneeling between his thighs as bare-ass naked as the day he was born. Somehow, that was the most comfortable thing about it. 

_I know you_ , Joey's eyes seemed to say. _I want you_. _I'm glad I stayed, but just don't hold it against me if I make a fool of myself, okay?_

"Hey," Billy said quietly, leaning to press a kiss against Joey's neck, feeling him tremble just like he had two days ago. "You think I don't feel like a dumbass for not having enough class to— _mmm_ , Joey," he gasped shakily, dragging his mouth away from the unexpected pressure of Joey's, as welcome as it was. He caught Joey's hand against his cheek. "I really blow when it comes to..." The look in Joey's eyes stopped him dead.

"I'll bet you do," Joey whispered, licking his lips, eyes even smokier than before.

 _I'm not gonna last if you keep looking at me like that_. Billy cleared his throat and managed, "Do you want...?"

Joey looked down, brow furrowed. He was still shaking, and Billy could guess how close he must be. "If you don't...I never really..."

"First time for everything," Billy said calmly, pushing Joey back onto the pillow.

He didn't cry out when Billy took his cock into his mouth, but he'd half expected him to, remembering how it had been when he used his hand. Just a sharp, voiced intake of breath, almost a whimper, while one hand clenched tight in Billy's hair and the other gripped his shoulder. Joey tasted of salt and skin, of something else he couldn't really identify. Hell, it didn't matter. What mattered was that Joey _liked_ it, never mind that Billy really had no fucking clue what he was doing. He sucked hard and held Joey's hips as still as he could, but Joey's hands were both in his hair now, fingers wound up almost hard enough to pull. Billy listened closely and realized that this breath hitched high and fast with every stroke of his tongue and scrape of his teeth and _there_ it was over, his entire body tense with the jerk of his hips and the bitter spill at the back of Billy's tongue. _Fuck, that's different!_

Billy swallowed twice and rested his forehead against Joey's gently heaving stomach, stroking the sweat-slick skin of his hips tentatively. "Joey?"

"Jesus," he gasped, breath coming in quick pants.

Billy let go of him and crawled up over him so that they were nose to nose. "Like that, huh?"

Joey's eyes snapped open. "I do now," he breathed, grabbing a handful of Billy's hair and dragging him down for a fierce kiss.

Joey turned the tables on him with surprising ease, or maybe it was just that he was so close to losing every last fucking shred of control that there was nothing he wanted more than this, than Joey sprawled over him with hands wandering and that soft, steady voice of his right in Billy's ear. Every murmur of his name, every press of Joey's hand or thigh or belly in just the right place drew another wordless cry from him. He clutched at Joey's hips and held him there, somwhere near pleading. 

"No more, I swear, you don't have to suck me off—Joey, _fuck_ , just stay right—dammit, right there—oh, fuck— _Joey!_ "

"You really do talk too much," Joey murmured, and Billy felt the brief sting of teeth catching his earlobe, then the wet warmth of his tongue easing it away.

Still trembling, Billy nodded and unclenched his fingers at Joey's hips. "You'll have bruises."

Joey kissed his earlobe again, wiggling as if to get more comfortable. "Who's gonna see them, huh?"

 _Nobody had better, that's for sure_. Billy just shrugged and shifted till Joey was lazily settled on top of him, circling Joey's waist tightly with his arms. "I will, I guess."

"Then you'd better not laugh. If you do, I swear I'll give you a hickey so fucking big—"

"You'd better not," Billy warned halfheartedly.

Joey yawned. "Fine."

For a long time, Billy lay there half dozing and warm, holding Joey still whenever he started or began to shift in his sleep. There weren't a whole lot of places he could have gone, besides. And it wasn't until Billy was on the brink of slumber himself that he realized one of them had better keep track of the time; otherwise, they'd give Phil an eyeful. But they had a couple of hours, and if anything, Joey had managed to make him guilty for his fatigue. Though he still really had to know...

"Hey," Billy whispered when Joey stirred again, "was it better than Mass?"

"Shut up, asshole." He could feel Joey's smile against his shoulder.


	3. Taste Testing

"That's _disgusting_ ," Joey said emphatically, setting his bottle down on the dingy cement floor. How could Billy swallow that stuff?

Snuffy elbowed him. "I'll take it if you don't want it."

"Be my guest," Joey said, turning his head to a jab at his other side.

"Hey, I paid for it," Billy protested, putting on his best rendition of big, pleading eyes. _Oh, great_.

Joey swiped the bottle before Snuffy's fingers closed on the neck. "He has a point."

Snuffy shifted back on the old mattress and emptied his bottle. "Whatever," he said with a shrug, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and turning his attention to the three seated across from them. "Anyone else have leftovers?"

"Nah, man," Hank said, shaking his bottle to prove its emptiness. Ric flashed him a taunting grin and held his own possessively. Phil was preoccupied with finishing his off.

"So are you gonna give me the rest?" Billy asked, poking Joey's side again, this time with a fingertip instead of his elbow. Joey almost dropped the bottle. _Shit, you know I'm ticklish!_

"Yeah," he said defensively, wrestling Billy's hand away and handing him the beer. "I hope you get a hangover."

Billy pouted again. "You and Phil will just have to take care of me." 

"No _way_ ," said Phil, setting his bottle down with a dust-grating _clink_. "What a sucky way to spend a Saturday. I'm outta here, there's a bus into town."

Joey had forgotten about that, but another poke from Billy distracted him. "Hey! Would you—"

"You really didn't like this stuff?" Billy asked thoughtfully, studying Joey's bottle after a long swig.

Joey wrinkled his nose. "I told you, beer's not really my thing."

"Beer?" Hank echoed incredulousy. " _Beer?_ This, my friend, is Guinness. Billy deserves a gold medal for sneaking this shit in, you know?"

"Does he?" Joey asked uncertainly. _He's more likely to get pots and pans, if you ask me_.

"Some friend you are," Billy retorted, setting his bottle down. He cuffed Joey without warning, one arm snug around his neck, dragging him down into a light strangle hold.

"Would you—cut it out?" Joey managed, squirming and tugging at Billy's arm. _Fucking around in front of the guys is gonna delay my going down on you considerably_. He could hear Ric and Hank chuckling beneath Snuffy's outright laughter.

"Come on, man. Let go of him. I didn't know much about this stuff before, either," Phil said, pointing at Billy with his empty bottle. "Not everyone's the obvious beer connoisseur you are."

Joey blinked at Phil. Was that _defense?_

"You're right," Billy agreed cheerfully, and he let go.

"Um, thanks," Joey murmured, glancing sidelong at Phil while straightening his collar.

Phil waved his hand absently. "No problem."

Joey could feel the grin in Billy's gaze as he reached around to roughly tuck Joey's tag in. _You clever, clever son of a bitch_. 

"Now on the other hand," Hank said unexpectedly, tapping a finger against his chin, "I'll bet not one of us has a damn clue about wine. I sure don't."

Joey's eyes flew up. _Conosco mio vino, amico! Just ask me_. 

"My Dad has this excellent stuff imported from Spain," Ric volunteered. "But it's really the only kind I've tasted. Some sort of red. I know it's good because he leaves the price tag on."

"How much is it?" Joey asked.

Montoya squinted at the ceiling. "Something like a hundred and fifty bucks," he confessed.

 _Oh, man!_ "Ribera del Duero, maybe? Damn, Ric," he said, remembering Christmas dinner the year before, "your old man's got taste."

Fleetingly, Ric looked proud, then sort of shocked. "You've had it?"

"I think so. A couple times," Joey said with a shrug. _More like a handful_.

"Sounds like your old man's got taste, too," Phil offered, then quickly shut his mouth.

Joey concentrated on the feel of Billy's hand clamped over his on the mattress till the ice drained from his throat. "I suppose he does," Joey said thinly. _But I can fucking match him any day, thanks._

Snuffy scooted forward on the mattress again, leaning toward Joey. "Hey, let's test him! I had this really sweet white stuff at New Year's. I think I heard my Dad warn my Mom it was kinda dry or something. Green bottle."

Joey chewed his lip. "It was sweet?"

Snuffy nodded. "Yeah, and almost as clear as water. Goldish. Gave me a light head on an empty stomach. I couldn't get into it."

"Riesling," Joey said. "Too many vintners to tell which, though, unless you saved the cork."

"My Dad's a cheapskate when it comes to alcohol," Snuffy said. "Maybe thirty bucks? He wouldn't pay more."

 _You guys are unbelievable_. "Maybe Mosel. Selbachs or Prüm? Hell if I know," Joey said, shrugging. "Too many, like I said."

"You?" Phil said, "are _good_. Take that, Billy."

Joey blinked and realized Billy had been staring at him the entire time. He gave Donoghue a curt nod, feeling absurdly proud of himself. Not as if he'd ever considered it a special talent. You had wine with dinner almost every day since your teens? You just learned a thing or two, that was all. Joey glanced at Billy and smirked.

"I hope it was Prüm, though. Been around since 1911, they've got it down pat."

Snuffy whistled. "I'll check the cork board when I go home. Who wants to bet cheapskate bought Sel-backs?"

"Close enough," Joey said with a grin. "And no thanks. It's nothing."

"Nothing to _you_ ," Billy said unexpectedly. 

Joey looked at him again. "What's it to you, huh? You wouldn't like—"

" _Shhh!_ " Snuffy hissed. "I heard—"

"Maintenance. _Shit_ ," Billy breathed, grabbing Joey's arm and yanking him to his feet. "We'll continue this discussion later. Come on, let's get outta here."

"The bottles!" Joey protested.

"Leave 'em," Billy muttered, dragging him along after the others. "Why d'you think _they're_ coming down here on a Friday night? I'd need a drink, too, if I'd been cleaning the caf all evening."

Joey frowned. "You have some kind of deal with them or something?"

"You might say that. Just so they don't catch _us_ down here. Our trash is fine. You'd be surprised what a six-pack can get you."

"You're no better than some folks I know," Joey said through gritted teeth, but by the time they'd ducked into the darkness of the passage, Billy's hand at the back of his neck massaged reassuringly, and he couldn't help but smile. _Maybe tonight's your lucky night after all, Billy_.

* * *

"You're better than Guinness, too," Joey whispered against Billy's ear, biting softly while he ran one hand down the center of Billy's chest. Billy's eyes were still closed, and for a while Joey was sure he'd forgotten how to breathe properly. _Thanks for having that SAT study session, Phil_. _Thank you GOD_. 

"What?" Billy's slowing breaths cut the word awkwardly in half.

Joey got up and crawled over him, reaching for the volume of his stereo. Aerosmith faded to near nothingness, leaving echoes of a different album free to drift over from the room next door. "I said," Joey repeated, "you taste better than fucking Guinness."

Billy gave a fractured laugh and tugged Joey down hard, almost knocking the wind out of him. "Yeah, um...so do you."

"You can remember back that far?" Joey asked tauntingly, giving his side a pinch. _Take that, Guinness Breath_.

"To last fucking week, damn straight," Billy yawned. "Don't think I'll let you go this Sunday, either. How 'bout that?"

"Convince me," Joey challenged, squirming closer to Billy in spite of himself. Jesus, that body of his. Felt too good, no wonder that ass McAllister couldn't resist.

"Come to think of it, I won't let you take the bus tomorrow, either. Come on, don't you give me that look. If Phil hadn't fucking reminded you—"

"I need to stock up," Joey protested.

"On what, huh?" Billy kissed him fretfully, making it impossible to think. _Dammit, dammit, dammit_. _You expect me to be able to answer that?_

"Paper," Joey mumbled.

"I'll steal you some."

"Not the same."

"Fine," Billy sighed. "You can go get your stupid-ass paper. But this means you owe me Sunday."

"Since you put it like that, no I _fucking_ don't, asshole." Joey rolled away, staring at the wall and feeling little prickles run up and down his spine as Billy turned and pressed up behind him.

"Joey." Billy kissed the back of his neck.

 _Fuck you_. "Yeah?"

"You know I'm kidding." More kisses, warm fingers stroking his thigh. Joey closed his eyes and trembled. _Shit, I didn't think I could_... _again, already_. _Would you just fucking touch_...

"I know," Joey replied unsteadily, clutching at the sheets as Billy's coaxing fingers found his cock. _I'm not changing your sheets for you, no way_.

"Stay, then," Billy said persuasively, his grip tightening.

Joey turned his head and bit at his wrist. "Like you'll actually _have_ a hangover—"

"I'm out of Guinness."

 _Sunday_ , Joey thought uselessly, thrusting into Billy's hand. _Maybe_...

"Maybe you will," he gasped.

He heard Billy laugh. "Oh yeah?"

"Oh yeah," Joey groaned. "Just you wait." _Prove to me you can appreciate the surprise I've got in mind and I'll skip church for a month_.

"It's such a turn-on when you pretend you're a brat." Billy stroked harder.

Joey's breath caught in his chest, and he bit his lip and swallowed, wishing for all the world he'd cranked the volume back up.

* * *

"You coming, Joey?" Phil asked, lingering in the doorway.

"Yeah," Joey whispered, opening the closet door carefully. "Go on. I've gotta grab something."

"Fifteen minutes. See you down there."

Joey waited until Phil had vanished, then grabbed his long-sleeved black corduroy shirt and shrugged it on over his tee. He hoped he was right about it looking chilly out there, or else he'd be pretty annoyed. He stole a glance at Billy still fast asleep, then patted his back pocket to make sure that his wallet—thicker than usual—hadn't fallen out. That was everything. He almost made it through the door.

"What, no goodbye?"

Joey froze with his hand on the doorframe and turned around. "I thought you were asleep."

Billy sat up, half shadowed from the early light filtering through the blinds. "Not anymore," he said, scratching his stomach. "What time you coming back? Ten?"

"Nah, I'll catch the five o'clock return," Joey promised. _Besides, Parker's less likely to be waiting at the gate. Earlybirds never come back smashed, and he won't be going through my bags, either_.

Sitting there with his covers bunched about him, Billy looked young, almost petulant. "I guess I'll have to—"

"Whatever you were about to say, just forget it," Joey warned, stepping back into the room till he was just a few feet from the bunk. "You have to promise me you won't do something stupid today." _Because I'm about to do something as stupid as anything you've ever thought up, and I at least want you free to enjoy it_.

After a split second of perfect silence, Billy smiled mischievously. "Maybe if you— _mmmm_."

Joey leaned so far into the kiss that he nearly knocked Billy over. He tore away just as quickly, breathing hard, fingers cramped and trembling on he edge of the mattress. "Behave, okay?"

"Yeah," Billy said softly, sinking back against the pillow as Joey tugged the covers over him. "Have fun, loser."

"Sure thing, moron."

Joey left quickly, denying himself a backward glance. It would've been way too easy to kiss Billy again, and then Billy would've pointed out that Phil's going to be gone all day, what do you know; by which point Joey would've had no resistance whatsoever and _shit stop thinking about it, you're almost to there, just move, move, move!_ Joey dashed down the front stairs and tore up the front walk, feeling the wind bite crisply into his clothes. He could see the bus door closing.

"Hey!" The flat of his palm hit the glass just as the bus began to lurch forward. It stopped, and Joey found his breath again.

"Close call," said the driver.

Panting, Joey climbed up the steps and swung into the right-front seats, both of which were vacant. "I guess so. Thanks," he replied, catching a whistle and applause from the back that had to be Donohue. Someone else chanted _Trotta_ a few times, but that wasn't really such unusual hell for a member of the soccer team to catch. Joey settled back in his seat and ignored both of them, closing his eyes. _You're more comfortable than this, Billy,_ he thought as the bus resumed motion. _But some good that does me_. Long minutes later, fleeting wishes for a pencil and his sketchbook faded into sleep.

* * *

"Hey, buddy."

Joey started, reflexively turning to see who had grabbed his shoulder. Donoghue was perched on the edge of the seat behind him, eyes bemused and inquisitive. "I'm getting off in Cambridge. You?"

Joey turned around and slumped in his seat. "I hadn't really thought about it. I need—" he bit his tongue "—art supplies."

"That's no problem. You don't have to go all the way downtown for that."

"No shit," Joey said. "I'm not sure if..." _I'm looking for something else, too, and the less you know about it, the less you'll want in on it_.

Donoghue thumped his shoulder. "Wake up, we're almost there. What d'you say?"

Joey sighed and straightened up in his seat. "Sure," he sighed. _But I'm gonna ditch you quicker than a blink_.

They cut through Harvard Yard, watching the midmorning sun filter down through the changing leaves and into late morning splendor. It wasn't any warmer than when Joey had first set foot outside, but it was brighter, and he had to admit, the place _was_ beautiful. Kids on steps and benches and under trees, books open, enjoying the first chilled days of October. Joey conjured an image of Billy walking just ahead of them, drinking in the scene with a smirk in his eyes before tearing off across the grass for no reason other than that it was probably improper. He laughed.

"Care to share?" Phil asked.

"Billy thinks I could get in this place. Yeah right. S'probably more your speed, Phil."

Phil cocked an eyebrow at him. "Why couldn't you? You've got some of the best grades in the whole damn school."

Joey cast him a measured glance. "But you're the right stock."

"Don't give me that," Donohue sighed. "You know what? If..."

He trailed off so abruptly that Joey was startled. "If what, huh?"

"If you wanted to," Phil said slowly, "I'm sure you could get in. _Not_ by crook."

Joey looked away and swallowed. _Since when do you tear up over shit like that, huh?_ "Thanks, man," he murmured.

"There you go. Now I'm with Billy—we're gonna hold you down till you say you'll apply, got that? And Yale, we'll make you apply to Yale and Brown and every fucking Ivy League in the northeast while you're at it, _capisce?_ "

Joey glanced back at him and laughed again. " _Capiscono_. And," he offered hesitantly, "I'm, um...sorry about all of that, you know? Temper runs away with me sometimes."

"Happens to everyone," Phil said with a wry grin, and they passed through the gate and onto the sidewalk.

Joey almost hated to abandon Phil, now, but it wasn't like he was any substitute for Billy or Snuffy, apology or no. He had specific business that needed taking care of, and if any lesson had been worth learning at home, well, that was it. And vanishing, he could vanish into a crowd if he had to. It was definitely one of those times. As soon as they had picked up some coffee and Donoghue was engrossed at the news stand, Joey started off in the opposite direction at a brisk walk. He'd think up an excuse later, and given Donoghue's mellow mood, ten to one the poor guy would take it. Joey picked up his pace, chasing off remorse.

Ironically, one of the first places of interest that he ran across _was_ an art supplies store, which waylaid him for well over half an hour. He emerged with rather more than he had intended: sketchbooks in 11.5"x14" and 5"x7", a pack of Staedtler pencils, a small tin of oil pastels. He didn't do much work in color, but he knew they were good for portraits. Maybe he'd surprise the guys. He couldn't stay away from the Harvard Coop, either, and that ended another twenty bucks spent on a book he'd been eyeing for ages. _No more_. He pushed through the exit and a blast of cold air hit him head on, plastering his hair against his forehead and his earring cold against his jaw. _There's got to be something around here somewhere_. _This is a college town, for crying out loud_.

Joey backtracked to the news stand, but Phil was nowhere in sight. He scanned the storefronts within gazing distance. Lo and behold, if it wasn't one of the first things he would have spotted emerging from the T-stop, if he'd just looked across the way. Past a small café and a drugstore, sign looking a bit worse for wear. _Cardullo's_ , it said. _I'll bet you're straighter-up folks than my family, good for you_. 

He took the shop's closest entrance and shivered once inside, the delight of warmth and a dozen different aromas wrapping him in familiar comfort. There was a place a lot like this back at home, right down to the meats and cheeses and barrels of local juices and hard-to-find French lemonade. But there was quite a bit more, too. Joey poked down one tightly-packed aisle and into a corner, this time assailed with something like spices blended with something much richer. Teas, hundreds of teas. He tapped curiously at one elegantly-styled box—some kind of Darjeeling. _You were such a Brit at breakfast, Mom_. 

Joey unshelved the box without thinking, winding his way around the central rack and up the other side. A guy in dark sunglasses bumped smack into him and didn't apologize. Joey just gave him a look.

Through the middle, there wasn't much besides chocolate and confections and all kinds of fancy biscuits. He didn't have much of a sweet tooth, but— _hey, Billy was carrying on about this stuff once! It exists?_ Joey shook the box of Guylian pralines, studying the white-and-dark swirled chocolate shells inside. _Never knew you had it in you, man_. He clutched the box to his chest along with the tea, making another turn into— _aha_.

The wines took up as much space as the teas. Calmly, Joey turned to the nearest rack, setting his merchandise down for a moment in order to button up his overshirt. He probably should have thought of that before entering, but there were other folks pushing indifferently past each other through the aisles, and both cashiers were occupied. Not that it made much difference in how he looked age-wise, but it was better than flashing even the tamest tie-dye in their faces. If they asked for ID, he'd just back down with an apology and say he'd forgotten it. No big deal. And then he'd have an excuse to make to Billy's unanswered anticipation. His stomach lurched a bit at the prospect. _Think twenty-one, Trotta_. _Think twenty-one_.

He picked his way through the aisles, not at all displeased with what he found. As far as red and white, considering what was there, he wouldn't take anything under the twenty-five dollar range, for sure— _Chateaux Pradeaux, Sensi Vernacchia_. For a blush, he'd have to go French, too— _Domaine du Gros, is that the best you've got?_ Joey fetched a basket hastily and tucked the tea and chocolates inside, rushing back to where he'd abandoned the three bottles. A bit of quick math and he realized he'd be lucky to cram in something _really_ excellent, much less supremely impressive. _Oasi degli Angeli, please_ —holy _shit_. It was _there_.

Joey set his basket down and grasped the bottle by the neck, running his fingers over the label. _Marche Bianco, Essedra_. It was beyond impractical, seeing as there was always the chance of getting caught, and the price—the _price_ —

 

_Joey stared at the floor, tried not to close his fingers too hard around the wad of bills pressed into his hand._

_"That should hold you through Thanksgiving, shouldn't it?" His father's voice was always so gentle. Concerned. "Do you need—"_

_"No, Dad. It's fine." Joey finally looked at the cash. He didn't want to guess..._

_"Well, if you find yourself in a tight spot, call."_

_Joey sighed. "I won't have to, really."_

_His father smiled and embraced him, warm as always. "You're a good boy, Joseph."_

 

"Fuck it," Joey said under his breath, slipping the bottle into the basket with the others. _You only live once._

"Is that everything for you today?" The girl at the register couldn't have been out of her early twenties. Kind of pretty, pale hair pulled back in a careless ponytail.

Joey held her inquiring gaze and emptied the basket item by item, neatly stacking it aside with some others. "Yes, that'll be it," he replied with a reserved, easy smile. _You might be a flirt_. _I hope you are_.

She outright grinned, punching the prices in one by one. "Big spender," she remarked casually, casting him a sidelong glance that prickled with familiar intent. "I'll bet your girl's in for a good time."

Joey wanted to laugh again, but instead he winked. "If you like." This was going much better than he had anticipated.

The cashier told him what he owed and watched with bright, intent eyes as he produced his wallet. It was a miracle she didn't drop the bottles while she bagged them. She tossed the tea and chocolates in as if they had been no more than afterthoughts, and her fingers lingered over Joey's a beat longer than they should have when she took the cash. 

"Your sweetheart's lucky," the girl said finally, fixing him with her smoky, neatly-lined hazel eyes, placing the sparse change in his hand.

Joey took the bag with care and thanked her, figuring another smile couldn't hurt. "Maybe. Have a nice weekend."

Her expression fell a bit as he turned away, the brightness in her eyes replaced with something like wistfulness. "You, too. Come again sometime."

 _Not to see you_. The other door was right there in front of him, and he pushed through it gratefully, taking several lungfuls of fresh air. He was trembling a bit, now that he was out of there. Disbelieving. He'd actually done it. Man, he'd have to remember to tell the guys— _if you mind your manners with the college chick at the register, she won't card you_. 

Joey took off up the sidewalk, realizing that he'd better find a place to sit down and have lunch. _I'll be lucky if I can afford it_ , he thought grimly. _Keep it simple_. 

He settled for the place on the corner more out of convenience than anything else and ended up spending as much time painstakingly peeling the price tags off the wine bottles as he spent eating his chowder. Worth it, as far as he was concerned. Billy didn't need to know he'd been shown up in the spending department to boot. 

Finally full and content with the condition of his purchases, Joey asked for a cup of hot water instead of dessert. He opened the box of tea and steeped a bag carefully. One spoonful of sugar, no more. He hadn't tasted its like in years of bedtimes without ghost stories and that soft voice outside his door. _Now you'll sleep tight_...

"Joey! Yo, what happened to you?"

He set the teacup down with a sigh. Those bounding footsteps were familiar enough. "Got lost in the shuffle thinking I could find you again once I'd ducked out of the Coop. Sorry, man. You having fun?"

Phil slid into the empty chair across from him, looking slightly out of breath, but not discontent. "Dude, I was in there for an hour. Didn't find a thing."

Joey fished in one of his bags and proved that his luck had been better.

Phil peered over the table curiously and remarked, "Looks like you really went to town."

Joey bagged _Focault's Pendulum_ again and shrugged, taking another sip of his tea. "It's been a while."

* * *

When Joey got back to the dorm, Billy wasn't there, and it was just past six o'clock. He kicked some stuff aside on the floor of the closet and set his bags down, flexing his fingers. Phil had stayed behind to hit a few spots with some buddies that Joey wasn't so well acquainted with; he wouldn't be getting back till ten at least. As for Billy's whereabouts, Joey was almost afraid to guess. _You'd better be at the gym or showering or something, and that's all I have to say about that_. 

He flopped down on the lower bunk with a sigh, shocked to find it at least presentably made up. Maybe Billy had bothered to change the sheets. _I was about to get on your back about that, too_. _Thanks_. And he was tired...

"C'mon, your beauty sleep can wait."

Joey startled awake. He struggled up on one elbow and rubbed his eyes, glaring at the foot of the mattress. Billy was sitting there, bouncing as hard as he could. "Where were you, huh?"

Billy went still and tugged on Joey's right foot. "I was gonna get dinner, but there's too much of a line. Then thought, gee, you'd probably be getting back about now."

"About now?" Joey asked blankly, rubbing his eyes again. "What time is it?"

"'Bout six thirty."

"I got in at ten after. Jesus, it's hard to get some rest around here." 

Joey realized that Billy wasn't going to stop tugging on him like that unless he _did_ something, so Joey crawled forward far enough to catch Billy's hand and yank as hard as he could. Billy made a sort of playful _oof_ sound, then muttered that he could take a hint and tackled Joey against the comforter. He grabbed Billy's wrists before any tickling could result and leaned up to kiss him square on the mouth. _You taste so fucking good_. _I missed you_.

"You win," Billy murmured several minutes later. "Take a nap, okay?"

Joey sat up with him and smoothed his hair back into some semblance of order. "No way. I'm starving. Besides, I've got a surprise for you, and it's probably better on a full stomach."

Billy grinned wickedly, as if at least half of his suspicions had been confirmed. "Maybe for you," he teased, pinching Joey's side.

Joey jumped and squirmed away. "D'you want to find out what it is or not? Dinner first."

"Fuck you," Billy said, catching him about the waist. "Okay."

* * *

"Did you lock the door?" Billy asked, picking up the mug that Joey placed on the floor in front of him.

"What kind of idiot do you think I am? Of course I did," he replied, settling down across from Billy with his own. He reached into the bag beside him and produced the four bottles one by one, lining them up off to one side in a neat row. 

Billy watched, almost smirking. "I've gotta say, Joey—at least I'm impressed with your nerve."

"Yeah, well, don't underestimate me," Joey said, giving him a defiant look. "I felt some kind of moral duty the second I realized you had no fucking clue about good wine."

"That's fine," Billy replied, tapping the rim of his mug with one index finger. "Just don't expect me to like it."

"Did I say you had to? All I care about is getting the taste in your mouth and the names in your head. You'll have to know this shit someday, or at least _pretend_ that you do." _You'll be head over heels for the red in ten seconds flat, Tepper_.

"Beer-Hater's Revenge, huh?" Billy asked smugly.

"Not a chance," Joey said, grinning, pulling his Swiss Army knife out of his pocket. "Wine Lover's Mission of Mercy." He pried the corkscrew free and reached for the first bottle. _Goner from the first sip, my friend_. 

Billy looked about ready to ask if he needed help from the minute he plunged the corkscrew till he finally managed to pop the cork free. "One more argument in favor of beer," he said, whistling. "Easy to open."

"Shut up. It's worth it," Joey asserted, handing the damp cork over to Billy's curious inspection. "Give me that," he said, indicating the other mug while filling the one in front of him. He handed it to Billy and took the second one, filling it for himself.

Billy stared at the dark contents curiously. "Reminds me of this stuff my Dad keeps alongside the brandy. Took a taste once and I could've sworn it had gone bad. Bitter as hell." He took a sniff. "Smells a lot better, though."

"Cheap Syrah," Joey remarked, and that was one more strike against Billy's workaholic old man, as far as he was concerned. "I wouldn't touch the brandy if I were you, either. Now _this_ ," Joey said, holding up his mug, "is from Chateaux Pradeaux Bandol. That's a French vintner on the Mediterranean. Cuvée La Rose Folle—'the foolish rose'. Honey and flowers, it's kinda sweet. Balanced taste, though."

"Excuse me?" Billy said incredulously, and Joey could hear the laughter creeping into his voice. 

"Shut up and try it, huh?" Joey said impatiently, clinking his mug voluntarily against Billy's. "Cheers. Oh, by the way—don't gulp it. Don't gulp any of these, okay?" _Because if you're not used to it—and you're not—it'll go straight to your head, I don't care how many beers you think you can hold_.

"Sure, whatever," Billy agreed, and Joey watched over the rim of his mug as he took a cautious taste. Billy didn't blink for a few seconds, mulling it over his tongue. Before Joey could ask what he thought, he had taken another drink, almost a full swig.

Joey took another swallow himself and closed his eyes. _Ah, sweet dreams tonight_.

"I think you need to shop for my Dad," Billy remarked, voice faint with surprise, and Joey heard him take another sip. "That's, um...I've never had anything like that before. Good."

Joey opened his eyes again, finishing the rest of his off in one swallow in order to hide a grin. 

"Hey, you said no gulping!" Billy scolded, cradling his mug protectively. "Precious stuff, right?"

"Not really—it's middle of the road, if you ask me," Joey said with a shrug, making sure he'd drained his mug properly. "I'm saving the best for last. Once you finish that off, we'll move on to the blush."

"Hey, but I want some _more_ of this."

Joey refilled his mug and took Billy's back to the brim. "If you say so."

"I fucking say so," Billy replied, holding his mug out at arm's length. "To your hidden talent."

Joey clinked his mug a second time. "Bullshit. I grew up around this stuff, you know?"

He insisted on rinsing the mugs before moving on, which Billy found vastly amusing, but he volunteered to do it anyway. Domaine du Gros' Noré Bandol, for all that he insisted that it was considered one of the best blush wines in the world, didn't quite click with Billy's taste—he hadn't really expected it to; least of all, in fact—because apparently the lingering flavor was, to his mind, an irritating aftertaste. _Okay, fine_.

"That one's _waaay_ too sweet," he concluded, swilling the remnant around in his mug.

Joey's helping was long gone. "I'll take it," he offered, frowning slightly. Billy sounded a bit slurred already.

"Nah, s'okay," Billy insisted, grinning lazily. "I've got it!" He downed the rest as if it were a shot of vodka rather than a prospective dessert wine. _Geez_.

"I think we need a time-out," Joey said, taking both mugs and setting them aside. "Your head's swimming."

Billy started indignantly, making a grab for his mug. "Is not!"

Joey set a hand on his shoulder, shoving him backward firmly. "Fucking liar, I see it in your eyes."

Billy barely prevented himself from flopping backwards. "Smartass. I'll get smashed if I want to."

"Then you're not leaving this room tonight," Joey said with amusement, working the cork of the Sensi Vernacchia free. "And you've got to promise me while you're still half sober that you know a place we can stash what's left of this. If room inspections come around, we're toast. Either that or we'd better drink fast."

"I'm all for drinking fast," Billy volunteered, accepting his mug and eyeing it askance. "No rinse this time?"

"Someone'll get suspicious. There's not a huge clash from here on out, anyway. I just didn't want any of the red mixing in."

"Fucking genius," Billy said, offering another toast, taking a rather large first taste. "Ooh, hmm. That's not as sugary as the pink stuff."

Joey choked on a sip, laughing helplessly. "I ought to take you to a tasting sometime. We'd be out on our asses in five minutes flat."

"That's why you'll continue to have these mercy missiony things or whateveryacallit," Billy said with mock seriousness, looking a bit flushed. "You're my only hope."

 _I'll say_ , Joey thought, surreptitiously taking another sip, beginning to feel pleasantly drowsy himself. _You'll be lucky if you can stand up by the time we're through with the Essedra_.

"Really not bad at all," Joey said before tilting his head back and tipping his mug for the last of it. "One more, huh?" he asked daringly, wiping his mouth. "Big guns, Trotta?"

 _Wait'll you're sober enough for me to tell you about this_ , Joey thought, peeling away the outer seal on the prize of the day. "One more," Joey confirmed, twisting the corkscrew in deep. _Wish I had the vacuum thing so I didn't have to ruin it_.

"Bring it on," Billy said enthusiastically, holding out his mug.

Joey nudged it in the right direction and steadied Billy's hand while he filled the mug halfway. "Really slow with this one, okay?" _And then I'm getting you some water_. _Looks like I'll really be nursing you in the morning_.

Billy tilted the mug to his lips, and for a moment his eyes flew wide, clear and almost lucid. "This is like...the...um, you know, foolish rose of white wines, isn't it?"

Joey tilted his head at Billy while he filled his mug, mildly impressed. "Even better than that. _Salut_ ," Joey said, beating him to the punch this time. _To your silly, drunken ass and how neither of us are gonna be getting any tonight, that's for damn sure_. _And how you could make me bend over fucking backwards just to find the best of everything for you_.

"Salute!" Billy repeated, not quite getting it, but come to think of it, that wasn't really his fault.

" _Salut_ ," Joey repeated, with a fond smile, setting his empty mug down on the carpet. "That's what you say for a toast."

Billy drained the Essedra and clanked the mug down beside Joey's, leaning forward so far that Joey was afraid he might have to catch him. "Guess what?" Billy said, his face just a few inches away.

Joey put both hands on his shoulders, just in case. He leaned in a little himself, skimming his lips against Billy's, then drew back to meet his heavily dilated gaze. _Exactly what color are your eyes? I swear we had a bet going once, me and Snuffy_. _Hazel, I argued, but they never look the same—one day we could've sworn they were green_. _Right now I guess they're just drunk_... _pretty shade, though, picking up the Sensi Vernacchia bottle_. "What?"

"It's the Joey of wines, that's what," Billy said clearly, and if it weren't for the fact Joey had never seen that particular grin before, he might've accused Billy of being a smartass, or worse. Except he couldn't breathe, even to speak.

"Um, _what?_ " Joey couldn't think, either. _I'll give you worse than a hickey if you're shitting me_.

Billy just kissed him, long and hard and uncontrolled. Before Joey knew it the mugs were knocked over and the bottles safe purely by the grace of God, and he could've just sprawled there for ages beside Billy, with wine sweet and sharp on their tongues, like dark velvet tossed over them to block out the room's feeble light. It had gotten dark outside, and dimly Joey could hear the tap and scratch of branches against the window, the hushed whistle of wind through drying leaves. 

_I'm sure Guinness is the Billy of beers, too_. Joey wrapped his arms around him just a little tighter and glanced across the room at Donoghue's alarm clock. Ten till nine. They would have to clean up soon, but surely it could wait half an hour more. 

Billy was fast asleep.


	4. Leaving a Mark

Billy screwed up his nerve and glanced sideways at Joey, pulling one of his shoes off. "Sorry about that," he said with a grimace.

"Yeah, no problem." Joey peeled his gloves off and tossed them to one side on the bench, his left hand immediately flying to prod at the bruised flesh just beneath his right eye. It was already turning. _Shit_.

Billy leaned over and pulled his hand away. "Don't do that. We'll get you some ice."

"It won't need any," Joey insisted, batting Billy's away in turn. "I've been hit by the fucking ball before."

"Not _that_ hard you haven't," Billy said, removing his other shoe. "Besides, I don't wanna hear you bitching all day tomorrow about how everyone's asking who you picked a fight with."

Joey punched his arm. "You'd better not be lying to me."

Billy slugged him back and turned his face up with one hand, running his thumb over the swelling. Joey flinched and pulled away. "I told you," Billy said. "It's fucking purple."

"Already?" Joey asked dubiously. He whistled and reached for his gloves. "Nice aim."

Billy clapped the soles of his shoes together, then shook out the remaining clods of grass and dirt. "Oh, come on," Billy muttered, an unaccustomed feeling of guilt clenching in his stomach. "Let's get out of here. The guys are probably waiting."

Joey stood up, squinting down at Billy as he shoved his shoes back on. "And we came in here _because?_ " he asked in annoyance.

Billy rose and grabbed Joey's elbow, steering him forward with a rough kiss on the cheek. "A shower can wait," he said pointedly. "If we wait any longer, you'll need more than just ice."

"Painkillers, asshole," Joey mumbled.

Billy shoved Joey ahead of himself and didn't stop till they were outside again. Phil was there, bent over the water fountain. He stepped away and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand just in time to spot them, and Billy felt his stomach twist a little more at the look on his face. _Fuck, here it comes_.

"Jesus," Phil said, meeting them halfway up the beaten path. "That was one rough block."

"Didn't even get the chance to, man," Joey replied, tucking his gloves into the pockets of his shorts. "Courtesy of Billy's stellar short-range kicking ability."

"Yeah," Phil gasped, voice already breaking with laughter, "but I didn't think you'd go black and blue. He'd better ice you up."

"We're getting there," Billy said, gripping Joey's elbow again. "I told him that if it's not taken care of pretty soon, he'll be even worse off tomorrow. But d'you think he actually believes me? _Nooo_ —"

"Shut up already," Joey said, almost laughing himself, yanking free of Billy's grasp, "and _do_ something about it, Mom."

"For your information, I'm _planning_ on it!" Billy sprinted to catch up with Joey's start toward the road.

Phil wasn't far behind, still chuckling. "I don't know, Joey. Sounds like a potentially abusive relationship to me. Maybe you ought to take him to the guidance counselor."

Joey slowed down and glanced over his shoulder at Phil, and Billy felt his heart lurch this time, something about the completely unreadable look in Joey's eyes. "Fuck you," he said, and the look was gone, replaced by one of mild annoyance. "It was an accident, okay?"

Phil raised his hands and smiled earnestly. "I know, I know."

Joey nodded and sprinted ahead, leaving Billy and Phil no choice but to speed up. _If you run straight to the room, I'm dragging you down to the infirmary so fast you won't know what hit you_ , Billy thought ruefully. _You're such a stubborn fucker, Joey_.

* * *

"Can I see?" Snuffy asked, eyes bright with interest. He absently poked at his Jell-O, and Billy wondered what his chances were of getting his hands on it.

"Sure," Joey said, shrugging as he whisked away the gel-filled eye patch thing that the nurse had given him. The reaction was immediate. Billy fought the impulse to pick up his tray and make a hasty exit. _Damn, that's ugly_.

"Man, you really did sock it to him," Hank said, shaking his head. 

"Gee, thanks," Billy murmured around a bite of his brownie.

"That had to hurt!" Ric said. 

"Not enough to make me think I'd need this," Joey said wryly, swinging the cold-patch in his face.

"Tough guy," Snuffy said into a bite of his Jell-O. _So much for that_.

"You obviously care enough to stuff your face right after you ask to see," Joey said with mock offense, replacing the compress with a wince.

"Like I said earlier, I don't think you ought to let Billy off so easy," Phil jibed in that same smartass tone from earlier. "Though maybe it's a good sign he's taking it worse than you are?"

Before Billy could hit him with a comeback, Joey kicked Billy's ankle under the table. "Let it slide, okay? Accident. In big, fucking red letters."

Billy took another bite of his brownie, avoiding Joey's glance. _Jesus, I don't deserve you._

"Hey, if it happens again, you could always knock it back at him," Snuffy suggested, nearly finished with his Jell-O. "I don't think I've ever seen you with a black eye, Billy. Might be sexy."

"Like there's anyone to impress around here, Snuffy," Hank snorted.

"Gee, you'd think otherwise, the way you beat—"

"Parker," Ric said quickly, digging into what was left of his pot pie. Phil looked up and Billy realized the dean must be directly behind him.

"Good evening, gentlemen. What's this?" Parker asked. Billy turned around in his seat, and so did Joey.

"That," said Phil, "is Tepper's fine aim at work. He's a real asset to the soccer team, sir."

Parker looked straight at Billy. "Is that so?"

"Yeah," Joey said firmly, "but I didn't duck in time. You think nothing he ever does is an accident?"

Parker raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I'd say that in this case it's a fairly safe assumption." He shook his head, half grinning. "Enjoy your supper."

Billy stuffed the last bit of brownie in his mouth and flipped Parker off the minute he'd turned around. The guys burst into laughter, but Parker didn't so much as give them a backward glance. Joey grabbed his hand and yanked it down against his tray.

"Close one." Those dark eyes boring into Billy made his heart lurch.

"Whatever. You know, you look like a pirate in that thing," he remarked irrelevantly, tapping the patch with the handle of his fork. Joey flinched and shoved his hand away.

"What kind of compliment is that? I wouldn't be wearing this thing if it weren't for you." No accusation, just a hint of challenge.

"Halloween's just a few weeks off," Snuffy reminded them, smirking.

"I think Phil should go in drag," Ric said, grinning wickedly, and the subject was well and truly changed. "He's got the nicest legs, after all."

Phil aimed a kick under the table, but he hit Snuffy instead. "Ow! Fucker, what d'you think—"

"Only if you pay me enough," Phil countered, smirking right back.

"Ten bucks," Hank offered, catching Montoya's glance with a help-me-out kind of plea.

"Fifteen," Ric added generously. "But you've got to do makeup and a wig, too."

"Twenty," Phil argued. "At _least_ twenty."

"You're on," Billy said. "We can afford that. But you've got to wear a _dress_. None of that wimpy skirt business."

"You fuckers are nuts," Phil laughed, sipping his soda. "Fine, twenty bucks for the works. But you, my friend," he said, jabbing his fork at Giles, "are going as the Ladies' Man, or I'll be without a date."

"Hey, I'm cool with that," Hank replied smoothly. "Just as long as you don't think I'm gonna kiss you or anything, girlfriend."

Joey elbowed Billy, then lifted the eye patch. "So while we're making deals—I'll do the pirate thing if you'll let me pick your costume."

Billy raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, but give me a few days to think, okay?" Joey grinned. "Consider it my revenge."

"No problem." Billy looked up and across the table, realizing that Snuffy had been listening in. "Hey, Snuffy," he said. "You still got that dumb cloak from drama club's blackbox thing in September?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Use it, or else we'll shove you in drag, too. Phil might be hurting for female company."

"No problem, man," Snuffy said triumphantly. "I've got a trick up my sleeve anyway. You'll be jealous."

Billy turned back to Joey, raising his eyebrow again. "I don't know about this. I think Snuffy might have me beat."

Joey didn't say a word, but his eyes said, _Just you wait_. _He doesn't stand a chance_.

* * *

Billy couldn't take it anymore. The minute Phil left his chair, he shoved his English reading aside and glanced over at Joey's desk. "Hey, how's it feeling?"

Joey looked up from whatever he was working on, and Billy fought the impulse to apologize all over again. "Okay," he said indifferently. "Tylenol's kicked in. That what you wanna hear?"

"I guess," Billy said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sitting up. "It's just that I can't go checking on you every five minutes while Phil's here, you know? Think he's gone to the library?"

"I can't read his mind," Joey said pointedly, tapping his notebook with the pencil. "Look, if you want help, just say so, huh? Don't tell me Hemingway is _that_ difficult. At least it's not Faulkner."

"I don't give a fuck about short stories," Billy said, pushing off from the mattress and striding over to stand beside Joey's chair. "I give a fuck about the fact I obviously shouldn't have brought that shit up again before practice. Your head was in the clouds the whole time."

"Was not," Joey said defensively, grip tightening on his pencil.

Billy bent over him patiently and slipped his fingers through his hair, feeling Joey tremble as he brushed his lips lightly over the livid bruise. "Joey."

"Yeah, well, I can't stop thinking about it."

Billy sank down and rocked back on his heels, nodding up at Joey. "It's not the end of the world or anything if—"

"Wait a fucking minute," Joey said in a hushed voice, index finger set against Billy's nose. "Phil might come waltzing back any minute, and this is one discussion he _doesn't_ need to hear, especially after today."

Billy closed his eyes. "Yeah, I know. It's just—"

"One more day, Billy. One more day of classes and then we have the whole fucking weekend to talk it out. That sound good to you?"

Billy blinked, taking a deep, earnest breath. "There's no way I'd rather spend _my_ fall break, I'll tell you that much. Mom tried getting me to come to her place, and I said no _fucking_ way. Where's Phil off to this time—some chick's place?"

"I don't think so," Joey said, relaxing a bit. "More like his cousin's place in Rhode Island. But Andrew's got girls around all the time, so Phil says."

"Oh, good," Billy said smugly, leaning up to accept the warm press of Joey's lips against his own. "He'll need the practice."

* * *

Billy couldn't concentrate. It was bad enough that he had Intro to American Lit first thing in the morning and he hadn't finished the reading, but it was worse sitting halfway across the room from Joey and catching an eyeful of his injury every time he turned his head, no matter how many guys' desks stood between them. Thankfully, Mr. Oger stopped calling on him when he realized he wasn't going to get any answer more enlightening than _I don't know_ or _Do I look like the Oxford English Dictionary?_ Joey came to the rescue a couple of times, but Oger got bored with him, too, for the opposite reason. Ric was the only other member of the gang to share this class, and he got off scot-free. _Lucky bastard_.

"So what's your secret?" Billy asked after the bell had rung, joining Ric and Joey in the hall. "He never calls on you."

Ric shrugged. "I guess I just lack the dazzling charm that you two so obviously possess," he said with a chuckle. "Aw, come on. "Three more hours till lunch. Don't look so down, you'll live."

"No I won't," Billy muttered, avoiding Joey's inquiring look. "I didn't do a damn thing last night."

"Do you ever?" Ric laughed.

"Yeah, when I make him," Joey said with a mix of amusement and disappointment in his voice. "But it doesn't always work, obviously."

"Take heart. He'll realize he'd better shape up one of these days."

"Um, okay, thanks for this enlightening analysis of my academic shortcomings," Billy said sharply, pushing between them. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm almost late for geology."

Ric said something that contained the words _dumber than rocks_ , but Billy was too far away to hear the rest. All that he could see were Joey's eyes, soft and inquiring, one of them bloody fucking _purple_.

* * *

"Mr. Tepper?"

Billy set his pencil down hard against the desk. "I don't remember. Why don't you ask Mr. McAllister over there, since he's so eager to answer?"

"You're to do the evens _and_ the odds in the weekend's homework, Mr. Tepper," Mrs. Luthin replied, and called on Petersen instead.

Billy closed his trig book and rested his chin on his hand, staring at the floor. He didn't give a fuck about math, he really didn't. And he couldn't stop thinking about the conversation he'd wanted to have with Joey the night before, and he couldn't stop thinking about it last period during econ, either. It'd been up in the air ever since Sunday morning; not even a headache had really been enough to keep him from resisting Joey's insistent _just go back to sleep and I'll be right here, huh? You look like hell, I never should've given you all that shit_. But, Billy had argued, it was _good_ shit, and he'd feel a lot better if Joey would just let him do this, and this, and _this_... Well, it _had_ gone pretty well. His head hadn't been so fuzzy that he'd ever forget the look in Joey's eyes when he'd touched him like _that_ , slow and easy at first—Joey had looked almost scared, then relaxed into it with this hitching little sigh, and Billy would _definitely_ never forget how his breath finally caught as he pressed deeper and Joey's frantic gasps were _more_ and _fuck_ and _please, Billy_...

 

_"Jesus," Joey moaned quietly, clinging. "Where'd you learn that?"_

_"You hear things," Billy said, wondering where his breath had gone even if he was technically in control of things. "You know, I was...I was curious. I didn't know if you'd like it."_

_Joey closed his eyes and breathed out, gave him this faint little smile. "Yeah, well, I'm still feeling it. You might have to go on without me."_

_"I don't think so," Billy said, pressing up close. "You wouldn't leave me like this, would you?"_

_Joey gave him this belly laugh for a response, and Billy shivered, feeling it all over. "Oh, and just what do you have in mind, huh? I can't even find my hands."_

_Billy grabbed one of them against his shoulder and kissed it. "Here's one." He nipped at Joey's index finger and then slid it into his mouth, suckling gently._

_"Mm," Joey murmured, opening his eyes. Really quiet, intent. Like he'd found the time for one of those deep-dive broods of his in the thirty seconds since he'd come his eyes out. God, he was unbelievable._

_Billy hummed around Joey's finger, in and out, in and out. Suddenly, he really did wonder if Joey would want to try—since he'd so unexpectedly liked—and Billy would be lying if he claimed he wasn't fucking curious himself—_

_Joey caught his breath and drew his finger out of Billy's mouth, running his hand through Billy's hair. "Okay, you crazy fuck, that's enough. I'll suck your dick all you want. Lay down."_

_Billy let Joey squirm out from under him and push him back against the pillow. He trembled under the intensity of Joey's kiss, and there were already times when he knew Joey was asking him something like this, looking for answers he didn't have the courage to seek otherwise, maybe answers Billy would find he didn't have if he looked too hard himself. When Joey finally drew away, it was scarcely enough to let a hair slip in between them._

_"I'll think about it," he whispered, and kissed from the hollow of Billy's throat down to his stomach, and Billy couldn't think about it for another minute himself. Shit, Joey had the cleverest fingers..._

 

"Mr. Tepper?" 

"Look, I know you're not gonna repeat the question this time, so just lay off," Billy snapped.

"I'll find you another five questions in addition, Mr. Tepper," Mrs. Luthin replied brusquely, brushing her dark hair back behind one ear. "See me after class."

 _Like you think I'm gonna spend my break on your fucking algebra problems_. Billy slid his pencil neatly up against the spine of his textbook with a smart _click_. What did he care? Lunch and two more classes to go. And then Phil would be leaving, and then he'd make it up to Joey. Somehow—

Billy blinked at the chalkboard, every nerve buzzing, then gave Mrs. Luthin a dazzling smile. And _how_.

* * *

"I'll make him get some Guinness, Billy," Phil promised, stuffing the remainder of his clean underwear into his suitcase. "Just for you."

"Does Andrew like wine?" Joey asked, tossing him his soccer ball from across the room.

"Kinda, why?"

Billy watched Joey rummage in the closet and come up with three half-empty bottles. "I'm dead if I'm caught with this shit. Take it." _Just as long as you don't give him the Whatsitsname stuff in the green bottle that you must've paid a small fortune for_. 

Phil studied the labels, nodding his approval. "Red, white, blush. You're thorough. Thanks."

Joey grinned. "Yeah, well, I saved the best for myself, so what you haven't tasted can't haunt you."

"Really thoughtful of you, man. I guess that's everything."

"Need any help carrying it out?" Billy offered.

"Nah, Andrew'll be waiting at the gate. We can get it to his car from there," Phil said, hefting one bag in each hand. "See you guys Monday. Don't get too bored."

"Not to worry," Billy said with a salute. "We'll keep busy."

"Snuffy and Ric are staying, too," Joey added closing the closet door. "See you, man."

"Yeah, you too." He stepped into the hall and sat one bag down, closing the door behind him.

"So is it true Luthin pegged you with twenty-five problems for homework?" Joey asked, smirking a little as he came over to sit down beside Billy on the bed.

"So what," Billy muttered. "What I wanna know is how you hear about this stuff so goddamn fast."

Joey shrugged, elbowing him on purpose. "I have class with Petersen right after lunch. He said you were pretty worked up over something."

Billy stared at the pillow. "Just thinking."

"I want to," Joey said unexpectedly, touching his hand. "But it's like—"

"Yeah," Billy said, turning his head to look Joey full in the eyes. "It's fucking scary."

"Like I said, we've got the whole weekend." He chewed his lip, looking so pensive Billy just wanted to call off the whole thing, and fucking rewind back to yesterday afternoon so he could second-guess the stupid kick. "I mean, considering that neither of us have ever done...fucking _rocket_ science..." He made a frustrated gesture, then looked up at Billy with honesty in his eyes. "I'm scared, all right?"

"So what if I want you to fuck me first?" Billy heard himself say. _Shit! It wasn't supposed to come out like that, it was supposed to be—_

Joey's hand tensed. "What?"

"That's right," Billy said as steadily as he could. "But you know, not tonight or anything, no rush—"

"Oh, shut up," Joey murmured, and kissed him so fast he almost didn't feel it till after he was six inches away again. "You, uh...you really mean that?"

 _I'm lost when you look at me like that, out in fucking No-Man's Land, Joey_. "Yeah, I do," Billy said, reaching to tickle his side. "But I swear if you quote me—"

"Cut it out, fucker," Joey gasped, crushing Billy's hand against his side. "So we've got a project for tomorrow. Because I don't know about you, but it's not like I keep—um, supplies around here."

"Besides enough wine to bribe the entire student body, except you let it all go, loser!" Billy reminded him, reaching for his other side.

"Play fair for once, huh?" Joey asked, grabbing his other hand. "You don't see me pulling this shit with you."

"Unlike some guys around here, _I'm_ not ticklish," Billy said proudly.

Joey smirked. "Whatever. Hey, you allowed off campus?"

Billy shrugged. "I think so. I've been good for a couple of weeks, you know."

"At least around Parker. I don't want to know what he'll do when he gets around to talking with Oger and Luthin," Joey said, looking concerned.

"Joey, we're on fucking break," Billy pointed out, "and so's the staff. We can sneak into town tomorrow morning no problem."

"I hope so."

Billy heard it in his voice, that _spark_. "Sounds like a plan. But don't you dare think..."

Joey tossed his shirt on the floor casually. "You were saying?"

"...we're not sleeping in," Billy finished, clearing his throat. He wormed out of his own quickly and threw it on top of Joey's.

"I'm kind of restless," Joey said with an edge to his voice, his hand already warm up and down Billy's chest. 

_God, why do you look at me like that when you're touching me?_ Billy swallowed and said, "I know."

"So I might kick you or something," Joey said, his voice no more than a whisper as he leaned in closer, fingers toying with Billy's fly, "and give you a big fucking bruise."

"I'll take my chances," Billy said smugly, and set about tickling him in earnest.

Maybe it was because they'd sort of cleared things up, or because they hadn't had the chance to do a damn thing since Sunday, but _Jesus_ , Joey's skin felt good. Kissing and touching in a clumsy tangle under his covers because the room was chilly, fingers catching here and there and learning more about how all of that new shit worked, or didn't—in the end it was just the press of Joey's body, the way he moved against Billy and actually made noise for once, that was really enough to have him seeing stars. _Fuck, you're something else_ , he mumbled into Joey's hair, and all he got in response was a sated murmur. They slept through dinner, sprawling and exhausted. Billy had hardly gotten around to waking up, wrapped in a warm, unconscious Joey, when three clangs sounded on the radiator.

Joey woke with a start. "Fuck!"

"Easy," Billy said, rubbing his back. "I'll answer him."

"Do we have a signal for 'fuck off'?" Joey groaned, letting go of him reluctantly. "Because that would be really useful about now."

"They probably wonder where we were at dinner," Billy said, rummaging on Joey's desk for the ruler, "and besides, we probably shouldn't _keep_ them wondering."

"I'll bet Snuffy's bored as hell now that Hank is gone, and Ric's hanging around down there like a stray puppy. Why'd he want a single, man? He just lives in their room anyway."

Billy hit the radiator three times and dropped the ruler on the floor. Joey was _looking_ at him again, propped up on one elbow and half draped with the sheet, looking pretty much like he'd just described Ric, and fuck, his _eye_. "Can't we just blow them off?"

"Too late, we've answered," Billy said, crawling onto the bed and tugging him up for a kiss. "Let's get dressed. I'm kinda hungry."

Joey sat up and glanced over at the clock. "You think they'd wanna go out? I'm definitely not cool with eating that shit for a second time today."

"Whatever you want," Billy said, slipping down onto the floor and tossing Joey's clothes at him in a messy bundle.

Joey caught them, gave him a look that might've passed for touched. "What, are you gonna bang them up, too, if they won't agree to it? How gallant."

Billy tugged his shorts on and gave Joey a long, hard look, but it just dissolved into remorse. "Jesus, that looks horrible. You can kick me all night if you want to."

"Nah," Joey said, finally poking his head through his shirt with a grin. "That won't be necessary."

* * *

"Joey, my man, this stuff?" Ric said with a flourish, "is _impeccable_."

"Drink up," Joey said, raising his mug in acknowledgement. "I don't want it sitting around for another week. I'm not as keen on getting in trouble as my roomies are."

Snuffy took another swallow of Essedra and gave a satisfied _ahhh_. "Yeah, really—but how long have you had this around?"

"Since last weekend. I bought it in Cambridge," Joey said.

"Mr. Trotta here brought home a whole damn wine-tasting," Billy said matter-of-factly. 

"Seeing to your education, as usual?" Ric asked, grinning into his mug.

"Yeah, you might say that. Most of it wasn't half bad, either."

"This goes pretty well with dinner," Snuffy remarked, setting his mug aside on the floor and flopping back on the mattress. "Never been to that Italian place on North Main before. Good thinking, Joey."

"Yeah, I can tell you one thing, the caf isn't exactly my idea of celebrating no fucking class for the next five days," Joey said authoritatively, leaning into Billy a little as he finished off his wine.

Billy jostled him a little. "You? _Glad?_ " he teased.

Joey shoved him back. "Time and a place for everything. Break definitely isn't one of them, though it looks like I'm stuck with you and your trig, huh?"

"Blow me," Billy shot back, emptying his mug and setting it down again.

 _Later_ , said the laughter in Joey's eyes. And as good as it was just to be there and hear Snuffy and Ric laughing along with them, _fuck_ , Billy suddenly couldn't wait to get back to bed.

* * *

"Wake _up_ ," Joey mumbled, and Billy knew the gentle bite at his earlobe was coming even before he felt the dampness of Joey's breath.

"I am." He nuzzled closer into the crook of Joey's neck and held him tight. _You're fucking nuts_. _This is way too nice_. _Hell, if they were to bang up here this minute, I'd fucking INVENT a fuck-off signal_.

"You're doing a pretty good impression of dead," Joey said, but he was apparently more interested in a few long, slow kisses than getting up immediately. "I was kind," he said after a little while. "It's almost noon."

"Jesus," Billy gasped, sitting up halfway. "Why didn't you say so?"

Joey stared at him for a few seconds, then poked a fingertip briefly between his pursed lips, smiling lazily. "Because you're not a fucking morning person, you moron. C'mon, we should shower."

There were a handful of other guys around town that day, catching up with friends outside of Regis or stocking up on God-knew-what, posters being probably the most harmless sought-after commodity. Snuffy had caught them at brunch and clung like no tomorrow, so they ended up letting him tag along, though Billy could pretty much feel that Joey was about ready to snap every time he stepped close enough. Lunch at Mara's Deli was a pretty lopsided affair, to say the least.

"Ric sleep in?" Billy asked around a mouthful of his ham and cheese sub.

"Yeah," Snuffy said disdainfully. "He crashed on Hank's bunk last night. At least he isn't a louder wank."

Joey's eyes darted to one side, as if to make sure the cashier hadn't heard. "Thank you for that information. I've been just dying to know."

"Hey, my pleasure," Snuffy said, taking a huge bite of BLT.

Billy had to do something before Joey blew a fuse. "So, um, Snuffy—what're you guys doing today? I hear there's some Spanish flick down at the arthouse. Maybe you and Ric ought to go and brush you up on your Spanish."

"I'm not gonna fucking _study_ ," Snuffy answered indignantly.

Billy caught Joey's wrist under the table and squeezed it. "We are. I wanna get a start on those fucking math problems so I don't have 'em hanging over my head for the next four days."

"How charitable," Joey said tersely, but Billy felt him relax.

"You boring fucks," Snuffy said, shaking his head. "Maybe I'll see if Ric wants to see a movie after all. Just bang if you wanna come, okay?"

"Will do," Joey said.

Somewhere between the secondhand record store and the supermarket, they managed to lose Snuffy. Billy squinted into the sunlight and glanced around, shifting the bag full of chips and a six pack of Coke from one hand to the other. "Where's Snuffy?"

Joey nudged him along so they didn't block the next patrons on their way out. "I think he's with that kid from his psych class. Come on," Joey said, starting up the sidewalk.

"Where are you going? I thought one of us would go back—"

Joey stopped and looked back at him. "I looked, but they didn't really have anything. It's not exactly a Stop'n'Shop, if you get my drift."

"Well, then there's the drugstore," Billy said logically.

"That's where I was going," Joey replied in that no- _shit_ tone of his, tugging on Billy's arm.

The covered one block in record time, only to hesitate just outside the store. "So—you, um, want me to go in?"

"I'll do it," Joey said firmly. "Just say here and be cool. Pop open a Coke or something."

"You really do make it sound like rocket science," Billy said wryly.

"Shut up. Who d'you think snagged the corner computer in the library just so he could look shit up and make sure it's done right, huh?"

Billy squashed the impulse to tease him further. "Thanks," he said softly.

"So I'll only be a few minutes, I know what I'm looking for."

"When'd you do that, anyway?" Billy asked before Joey could go inside.

Joey turned around, one hand on the door. "Sunday night."

 _I thought so_. Billy leaned back against the front window and waited. He wasn't really in the mood for a Coke.

* * *

They stayed in town just long enough to catch dinner at a seafood place a few doors down from where they'd had lunch. By the time they left, Billy was still smiling about the look on Joey's place when he insisted Joey order whatever and just leave the tab to him. He'd settled down considerably, but there was still this jittery energy all through him, every step of the way back to Regis. _It'll take ages to get him calm_ , Billy thought, holding the front door for him, then ducking in and out of the evening chill himself. Joey was waiting a few paces ahead, giving him a look something like he'd given him over dinner, this time the nervous ghost of a smile. _You really are a sight, Joey_.

Billy held the door to their room, too, plunking the doubled up bags down to one side and watching Joey shrug out of his coat, graceful in spite of how tightly he was still wound up. Billy walked over to him, instinctively setting his hands on Joey's shoulders. God, he was tense. How had he managed to accomplish such a thing since eleven forty-five, when they'd been curled up together, so relaxed? Billy massaged for a minute or so, and Joey didn't object, standing perfectly still under Billy's touch. Billy sighed and eased off, then slipped his arms around Joey and squeezed him briefly.

"Hey, I don't know about you, but...I'm really looking forward to it. Whenever you're ready. Even if it's nev—"

"You couldn't pay me to make it never," Joey said fiercely, with just a hint of defiance. _That's more like it_. _That's the Joey I know and_ — "But for God's sake, be patient. I'm gonna fuck this up."

Billy hugged him harder. "No you're not."

Joey shrugged him off and went over to grab the bags, then went over to the bed and collapsed on the mattress, leaning over to fish around in a crumple of white plastic. "I don't think anything'll stop it from hurting."

"Is that what you're concerned about?" Billy asked, running his fingers through his hair. "Fuck, Joey. It's not like I haven't hurt you lately. It isn't like I don't deserve it."

Joey's head flew up from studying the back of the lube's box. "Is that why you volunteered? Because you think I wanna get you back for this?" He made a brusque gesture at his injury, a distinctly hurt look in his eyes.

Billy felt himself fall to pieces inside. "Oh, no, come on, _Joey_ ," he pleaded, rushing over to the bed and sitting down close beside him. "It's not like that, Jesus fucking _Christ_. Look—hey, would you stop that?"

Joey's jaw clenched. "Stop what?"

Billy felt a surge of something like anger, but not quite. He grabbed the box out of Joey's hands and tossed it over his shoulder into the mess of sheets, not really caring where it landed. Joey's hard look was already coming undone, and he trembled when Billy pressed a hand to his cheek. _Joey, I just_ —

"I just want you."

Joey took a trembling breath. "I don't understand you sometimes. How you can just—"

"Fuck, Joey, would you just shut up and _listen_ to me?" Billy almost shouted. "Now, if you're still not sure—"

Joey was kissing him again, not just kissing, but _kissing_ , like he was afraid this chance would never come again in his life, like his life fucking depended on it. And if Billy thought about it, well—his did too, somehow, as if reassuring Joey over and over again were all that mattered, letting Joey know that he was there and every single thing they'd done just meant he cared more than ever, that he'd cared for months, that Joey was _worth_ more care than anything else. His parents didn't mean shit, if they were going to keep at arm's length for their entire lives, and school work _really_ didn't mean shit, so he gave it all back, every moan against Joey's mouth, every slip of his tongue, every gasping breath that neither one of them wanted to take. _Believe me, just believe me_. _I think you're the only person in this world I could never lie to with a straight face, and I think_ —

"I want you, too," Joey was gasping against his cheek, breath like fire. "I want..."

" _Shhh_ ," Billy said, disentangling them just enough to reach down and tug one of his shoes off. "Take it easy for a minute."

Joey was breathing hard, but he nodded and reached down to carelessly untie his shoes, then kicked out of them. Billy found it hard to pay attention to where his own fell when Joey's every move was enough to paralyze him, to finally make him afraid. Not of the pain so much, not really, but— _what if you fuck it up, Tepper? If you make one wrong move and he spooks, huh?_

Joey finished yanking his socks off and looked up, the heat in his eyes tempered down to smoldering coals, some of the apprehension gone and replaced by familiar, inviting desire. "Is that better?"

"Yeah," Billy said, and he couldn't help but smile. "I think that cuts down on the risk of you kicking my ass, doesn't it?"

"I'll do better than that," Joey said, leaning over to toy with the hem of his sweatshirt. "A hell of a lot better. I hope."

"If I hear one more word out of you, I'll kick _yours_ ," Billy promised, scooting fully onto the mattress, forcing Joey to follow. "Understood?"

"Sure," Joey said softly, turning his attention back to Billy's shirt.

They hadn't taken the time for this kind of tease before, a deliberately slow stripping down. Joey didn't bother with his own shirt right away, and by the time he'd set his mouth to exploring every inch of Billy's chest, his belly, his sides, his arms—Billy was pretty damn close to begging, except he couldn't really form words to do that, so what did it matter. Joey responded to helpless sounds just fine, in the end: he straddled Billy, a deliberate teasing wriggle, and undid his buttons one by one, eyes locked on Billy's, not even blinking once. Billy reached up and brushed the loose folds back from his chest, and his breath had run off again for a hell of a lot better reason than the weight concentrated at his middle.

"Take the fucking shirt off," Billy breathed. " _Now_."

Joey leaned forward, his hair falling in his eyes a little, bracing himself with one hand fisted in the pillow. "Maybe if you ask nicely, asshole."

Joey was rocking against him again, slow and easy, and he realized just how completely Joey had thought this out, and just how fucking _amazing_ it was going to be, if he could just get his nerves down at the last minute. "Joey, _please_."

"Okay," Joey whispered softly, seriously, and Billy realized it was the first time he'd closed his eyes in ages, this slow lowering of his dark lashes as the pushed his sleeves down from the shoulders, one after the other, just leaving it bunched at his wrists and gathered down around his waist. "Like that?"

Billy choked on a groan, struggling to sit up. "No, Joey, like—"

"Stay there," Joey said firmly, but the command was pretty unnecessary, what with how forcefully he pinned Billy back against the pillow with a kiss and managed to work his wrists free of his cuffs at the same time and be sitting there half bare by the time they pulled apart. _Oh, Jesus_... _!_

"Like that," Billy managed to say, stroking up Joey's arms.

Joey caught Billy's hands at his shoulders, kissing the back of one, then the other. "Good," he said, gently this time, not teasing anymore. "I'll remember that."

 _You'd better_ , Billy thought and dragged him down again, one hand tracing along Joey's waistband carefully, _because there's not a fucking thing about this I'm going to forget, not any time soon, not_... It was a triumph to have Joey gasping in his turn, incoherent against Billy's mouth as Billy's hands loosened his jeans and stroked underneath to seek the contours of his hips through soft cotton and softer skin underneath. Never silk, and Billy wondered why, but it was just one of those things, wasn't it, like anything else about Joey that just resisted deciphering? He could live with that, especially since the brush of his fingers over Joey's erection earned him another hushed moan and a sharp jerk of the hips. _Why so silent, Joey? What'll it take to get you? Have they branded control into you that fucking deep, your Dad and those Mafia fuckers, your whole life? It's not for everything, Joey_. _Not for this_. _You're allowed to love my hands all over you_. _I fucking say so_. _You've got such a fucking beautiful voice_ —

" _Billy_ ," he sobbed quietly. As if he'd heard every word. Maybe he had.

"Oh, yeah," Billy groaned, shaking. That was really enough, really all it would take, Joey so close to falling apart in his hands like that. _Ready or not_.

Joey sat up and fumbled around to one side till he found the box, picking at it with clumsy fingers. He couldn't handle stuff when he was like that, Billy finally realized, just like knocking the towel off the door. Those hands that worked so well for so much. He took the box away from Joey and tore one of the flaps away in his own impatience, shaking the tube out into his hand. Joey was just staring at it, and the longer he did that, the more he'd think. His hands might not be good for concrete shit when he was that turned on, but man, his mind could still function unreasonably well under the circumstances. Billy set it beside the pillow and looped one arm around Joey's neck, tugging him down for a heated kiss.

"Gotta get out of these," Joey mumbled. He rolled away from Billy and struggled out of his pants, and it took Billy a moment's hesitation to decide he'd be better off taking care of his own, or they'd just trip up again, and Joey's chances of freezing would be better than ever. He wasn't going to let that happen, all of those fucking crazy mind games Joey was used to playing with himself. He wanted Joey to learn how to _trust_.

"Come here," Billy said, another force of habit, and they couldn't stay pressed close like that for very long, or things would go a lot like they had the night before, rushed and desperate. "Would it be easier if I turned—"

"Probably, but I..." Joey looked at him for a few seconds, as if he wasn't sure of how to say it. "I want to see your face."

 _That'll help_ , Billy thought, _maybe_. He lay back against the pillow again and Joey crawled over him, reaching for the lube. Billy caught his hand and took it, unscrewing the cap quickly. _You're not gonna be any more distracted than you should be_ , he promised Joey silently, taking a messy handful of the clearish stuff before tossing it aside again. _Look at me while I do this_.

Joey's eyes snapped shut at the first touch of Billy's hand. "Oh, _fuck_ , that's cold!"

"Not for too long," Billy reassured him, slicking Joey's cock till he trembled with each slippery stroke.

"Stoppit," Joey gasped and forced Billy's hand away. 

"Just, um, breathe...Joey?" _You idiot_. _He's not even gonna make it because you fucked around too long!_

He was looking at Billy, eyes still and focused. "You really want me to do this. Honest to fucking God want me to do this."

Not a question, not in the least. "Yeah, I do," Billy said. His voice was giving out already. _Shit!_

"Okay," Joey breathed. "Um, if it's too bad or anything, you know..."

It wasn't bad at first, not really. Joey working his fingers in first was a lot easier with something to ease the way; all he had to do was touch himself, though Billy found himself closing his eyes over that, anything to hold on just a little bit longer. As long as Joey thought he was steady, great, Joey would keep steady, too. He managed to through the first push, just an inch or two, but Joey's precautionary fussing was pretty damn accurate, you couldn't ignore that kind of a stretch for very long. Billy gritted his teeth on a shout.

" _Fuck!_ "

Joey jumped, dislodging himself. "That's it, I swear, you can't fucking tell me this—"

Billy caught his breath and opened his eyes, tugging at Joey's hips. "It's okay, I've got it now. Know what to expect."

"Oh, Jesus," Joey whispered, and to Billy's shock, he tried again almost without skipping a beat.

Billy managed not to shout this time, though Joey's eyes were locked onto him and the expressions reflected back were a mix of pained sympathy and a kind of breathless shock. It didn't take long, a couple of inches, then a few, and then Joey thrust forward helplessly and that was almost the end, because _fuck_ he'd slid the whole way home and _motherfucker_ what _was_ it about taking it so deep that felt so fucking incredible, till he couldn't _help_ but beg with every stroke around Joey's half coherent cries of _Billy, I think—I've—I've got it!_

He did, he had something, and whether it was his hand jerking Billy off with clumsy strokes or how he seemed to know just the right angle to drive himself with only Billy's wordless, useless cries to go on—oh, _fuck_ , if Billy could just get a handle on his tongue for long enough to say—

" _Joey!_ "

"Gotcha," Joey mumbled, bending over him far enough to tuck it against his ear, a kiss as quick as the last hard thrust of Joey's hips and as sharp as what was running through him, and he wouldn't have a single fucking word for it after, but it didn't seem like Joey would, either. He was still now, and shaking so hard, and Billy tucked his head close against his neck to feel an answering cry against his skin, muted as always, but full of something else, scorching with this new fire.

"You okay?" Joey whispered, and he collapsed against Billy with a jarring little shift. _Oh, now he's_...

Billy stroked Joey's hair and shivered, flexing the cramp out of his legs. "Mhmm." 

"Glad," Joey whispered, and Billy heard him lick his lips. "I'm really..."

"Good," Billy supplied helpfully. He knew that much, and that they were a fucking mess, but that was beside the point.

Joey lifted his head and turned Billy's for him, one hand cupped against his cheek. Billy watched him bite his lip.

"You can say something," Billy murmured with an effort. "Really."

"Billy," Joey began awkwardly, "that's..."

"Yeah?" Billy could see him a lot more clearly now. Still flushed, chest rising and falling quickly. Hair sticking to his forehead and his temples and that fucking awful bruise.

"That's the best thing you ever talked me into."

Billy chuckled. He could feel himself again, for the most part, and that he hurt, but Joey didn't need to know that, or what the _fuck_ was he talking about, Joey already knew, and knew that he liked it. "What should I talk you into next time?"

"Ducking the damn ball," Joey said, tentatively fingering his right eye. "I think I whacked myself a good one on your elbow."


	5. Trick or Treat

"Damn," Billy said, then whistled. "Ric was right about those legs."

"You're such an ass," Phil replied, but he was grinning as he struck another pose, one hand up behind his head, the other lifting just enough skirt to reveal one scuffed-up knee. "Who'd wanna date you?"

Joey shook his head and turned back to his reading. "You've got two days to heal that sucker, or else you won't be showing those legs off to anyone," he said. "Besides, a lady doesn't _play_ soccer."

"That's sexist, man," Phil replied, bending over with a swish of lavender chiffon to retrieve what looked like—well fuck, a pair of _heels_. He slipped into them, then hobbled over to Joey's desk and braced one foot up against the side, fumbling with the buckle. "Couldn't pay a girl to date you, either."

"Hey, you think I don't know girls play sports nowadays?" Joey said, fixing Phil with a smug look. "I'm just saying, you look like something out of _The Great Gatsby_ in that thing. How old are those broads your cousin's fucking, anyway?"

That earned Joey a hard thwap on the elbow. "It's the best they could do. We raided his girlfriend's aunt's attic."

"I guess it'll do," Billy said with a pitying sigh, stepping up behind Joey's chair, his neglected geology assignment now entirely forgotten. "Now all we've gotta do is find you a wig and some makeup."

Phil raised his eyebrows at them and put his hands on his hips. "You think I haven't thought of everything? Like I'm gonna ruin the surprise and run around in full drag just for you two. Uh-uh. If you can't wait till Wednesday, why don't you just ask Joey here to paint himself up for you?"

Joey flipped his book shut. "If you agree to shave your legs, I might just forget you said that." _Just where are these fucked-up comments heading, huh?_

"No way," Phil said with a short laugh, raising both hands in the air. "That's where I draw the line."

Joey felt Billy's hands on the back of his chair, fingernails brushing his shirt. "Aw, Phil, don't be such a spoilsport. I'm sure Hank would really appreciate it."

"Fuck no, Billy." Phil bent over and unbuckled the shoes.

Joey was about to cut into him when Billy spoke up again. "Fishnets. Take it or leave it, asshole."

Phil kicked out of the shoes and stared at Billy. "For five more bucks."

"Five more bucks says if you don't do it for nothing, then I'll tell the whole fucking soccer team you voluntarily wore girly shit around on a Sunday afternoon."

Joey opened his book again, choking on laughter. _Yeah, this is why I keep coming back, for sure_.

"Bite me," Phil muttered, sauntering back over to the closet. "Fine."

"'Atta boy," Billy said brightly, patting the back of Joey's chair and moving back over to his bunk. "Treat your date right."

"You wait till Hank hears this shit," Phil muttered, squirming back into his t-shirt.

"Like Billy said, he'll be grateful," Joey said with a shrug, not bothering to look up from the Noyes poem he'd been examining.

"Fuck you," Phil said, but there was already an edge of amusement in his voice. "Hey, Billy, I hope he dolls you up so good—"

"Yeah, Joey," Billy interrupted, and he heard the geology book close again. "Have you got my costume figured out? Time's a-wastin'."

Joey looked up nervously. "Almost, yeah. I asked Snuffy if he'd let us into the costume room tomorrow. Just give me the rest of the night." He closed his notebook, aware that they'd both been close enough to possibly notice his scribblings weren't really homework at all.

"You'll just sit there and work on your fucking English homework if I do that."

Joey bit his tongue, then sighed wearily. "It's not English homework, asshole."

Billy tilted his head, sporting a slightly worried look.

 _Jesus, I told you to trust me_. Joey tucked a fresh pencil behind his ear. He stood and stacked his small sketchbook on top of his notebook and the library book. "I'm going outside for a while. You'd never know it's almost November."

Billy's hand hovered over his book. "Want some company?"

"Not if you're gonna be nosy," Joey warned.

"Well, fuck," Billy sighed, dropping his hand against the cover. "You're no fun."

"Do your geology, huh?" Joey prompted. "You'll survive an hour or so."

"Maybe," Billy pouted, picking up his book.

Joey left quickly so he wouldn't have to hear Phil's commentary, if any was forthcoming.

* * *

Snuffy stared at the sketch. "Are you out of your mind? That's too fucking elaborate."

"I didn't say we're gonna follow it to the letter," Joey said defensively, tapping the page with his eraser. "It was hard enough to find all the finishing touches for mine, let alone rustle up an entire outfit using those rags of yours."

"Hey, don't diss the costumes," Snuffy said, grabbing the sketchbook from Joey and flopping down on his bed with it. "We've got decent stuff in there, for what it's worth."

Joey walked over to the bed and sat down beside him. "Do you think we can do it?"

"What's this say right here?" Snuffy asked, pointing to a scrawl beside the model figure's slightly bent knee.

"Um, that's...d'you have anything that resembles buckskin? Suede?"

"No, man," Snuffy said, shaking his head. "But Billy owns leather pants, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, but they look too—"

"For fuck's sake, one anachronism won't hurt you, especially since I've got boots as high as you're calling for," Snuffy said with a sidelong glance, grinning.

Joey clapped him on the back. "Excellent!"

Snuffy stroked his chin, studying the rest of the picture. "The hat'll be a snap, I think we must have a whole box of three-corners alone. You want it to match the jacket? Then you might have a problem."

"No burgundy?" Joey chewed his lip.

"Dark red, definitely."

"Close enough," Joey said with a satisfied nod. "The belt and scabbard, no problem either, right?"

"Right," Snuffy said. "But if you want pistols, too," he said, pointing to the hips, "it'll look too Wild West. We don't have anything Revolutionary."

"Just the scabbard, fine." This was going a lot better than Joey had expected, so he wasn't about to complain.

Snuffy's finger traced up to the chest, tapping just beneath the collar. "You couldn't get Billy to agree to that lace, come on."

"I was using a fucking Victorian poem as a model, okay?" Joey laughed. "Go easy on me. Yeah, okay, so he'd never agree to that. You have a shirt that just kind of...well, sort of frills at the neckline, and hangs open low and easy?"

"Jesus, are you looking for a chick's blouse, or what?" Snuffy asked skeptically, then elbowed Joey and grinned. "Calm down, I know what you're talking about. Fuck yeah, we can do this. Now, um...the scabbard...it has a short sword inside. Keep it sheathed when teachers are around, or else you're toast."

"I'll be carrying a knife myself," Joey said with a shrug. "So okay, advice taken."

Snuffy raised his eyebrows. "You guys are kinda scary."

"Hey, what, would you rather we went as Batman and Robin?" Joey asked dubiously. "I thought you'd appreciate this shit."

"As a matter of fact, I _do_ ," Snuffy said haughtily, "and when you guys see my costume, you're gonna be sorry you threatened me with the same fate as Phil."

Joey grinned and took the sketchbook back. "Oh yeah? What're these super-secret wonder duds you're not telling us about, huh?"

"You'll see, you impatient fuck," Snuffy informed him. His eyes were on the sketch again, brows kind of furrowed.

"What’s wrong?" Joey asked, afraid he was about to say that he'd made a mistake about the boots or something.

"Nah, it's just..." Snuffy looked up at him, eyes narrowed a little. "You put a lot of time into that, didn't you?"

Joey shrugged and gave the picture a glance. "So?"

"So, some of your fucking art projects don't come out looking that good, and hey, it even _looks_ like him. When'd you even get him to stand still long enough to sketch that?"

"I didn't," Joey responded, making a confused gesture. "I just drew it."

Snuffy made a _pht_ sound. "You're a mimic, man. You can't draw like that unless it's right in front of you, or you know it like the backs of your hands."

"So? I know Billy, what's your fucking problem?" Joey's stomach tightened. _Shit, I ran away from Phil only to get it from you, too?_

Snuffy's eyes softened a bit, almost apologetic. "Were you even gonna tell me?"

Joey stared at the paper, fingers curling tight at the edges. "I don't know. Does it weird you out?"

"No, man," Snuffy laughed, reaching for the lighter and pack of cigarettes on the edge of his desk. "But I kind of thought I was seeing things, and now I think I need a smoke."

* * *

"Back already?" Phil asked, looking up from his history book.

"Yeah," Joey said, closing the door behind him. He put the books down on his desk and glanced over at the empty bunk. "Where's Billy?"

"I wouldn't get your hopes up," Phil said, yawning. "He wouldn't be caught dead in the library on a Sunday."

"No shit, I didn't think he would be." Joey stared out the window, wondering if Billy had gone looking for him outside.

"I thought maybe he went looking for you," Phil said indifferently. "He left a few minutes after you did."

"Whatever," Joey said, sitting down at his desk. _Sorry I lied to you, man, but at least it kept you out of my hair for twenty minutes_.

Phil took a breath that meant he was about to say something, but it didn't go anywhere. Joey looked up and met his gaze, and he looked away again briefly before putting his pencil down. "Look, I know I've been on the edge these past few weeks," he said hesitantly. "I don't want you to think..."

"I don't know what you think, but I'd really appreciate it if you just kept it to yourself," Joey said steadily. "Then maybe things can get back to fucking normal around here, huh?"

Phil raised his eyebrows and made a sort of look-who's-talking face. "Normal?"

"Those smartass comments you keep making," Joey said. "You know the ones I'm talking about."

"Okay, fine, but listen to me for a minute," Phil pleaded. "I'm a third wheel around here anyway, and all of a sudden there's some inside joke—I mean, you two have been—" He stopped. "It's not a joke, is it?"

"No," Joey said, looking up at him.

Phil nodded, then looked out the window. "It's just...different."

Joey looked down at his hands. "Yeah, it is."

"What?" Phil asked.

"Different," Joey said, looking up to offer Phil an apologetic smile. "Don't think you're the only one that's gone through a fucking adjustment, all right?"

Phil's brows knit, then nodded slowly, as if he understood. "Yeah, okay. I guess you’ve got a point."

"Good," Joey said, reaching for his English book. _Because I don't think things are going to change again any time soon_. _And if they do, I'll be really fucking depressed_.

* * *

Joey rapped three times on the battered wooden door. "Hey, Snuffy!" he called. "You in there already?"

No answer. Billy shifted his weight and crossed his arms over his chest, smirking. "Don't tell me he forgot.

"He wouldn't," Joey reassured him, glancing up and down the hall. "He's looking forward to this as much as I am."

Billy grabbed Joey's wrist and glanced at his watch. "In which case, our eager Mr. Bradberry is ten minutes late. Is he the only student with a key?"

"Only one I know personally," Joey said. "Besides, he's authorized to sign this stuff out. We can't just _take_ it."

"Of course not," Billy said innocently. "Hey, did you think of just trying the door?" he asked, reaching past Joey for the doorknob. It turned smoothly under his touch.

"He must've been here," Joey thought aloud, tucking his sketchbook under his arm and following Billy into the musty, windowless room. The lights were on, humming dimly.

"Nice place," Billy remarked sarcastically, reaching out to touch a row of cloaks on the nearest rack. "It's a wonder he hasn't died of an asthma attack in here yet."

"Must keep the inhaler pretty close," Joey agreed, stepping down the aisle between the rows of racks and into the middle of the room. He glanced warily from side to side. _All right, Snuffy, where the fuck are you?_

"Just imagine the shit you could pull with some of these props!" Billy called from behind him. "Can you imagine the look on Parker's face if I were to switch his robe out for _this?_ "

Joey turned around and looked at the frilly nightgown that Billy was holding at arm's length. "I'm not sure I want to."

Billy grinned at him broadly. "I, uh...can't say I blame you," he said, suddenly trying very hard not to laugh.

Before Joey could ask what the fuck was going on, a pair of hands abruptly seized him by the shoulders. " _Hey!_ What—"

"Snuffy, you look fucking ridiculous in that!" Billy howled.

Joey took hold of the arm around his neck. "Hey, asshole, let go. Game's up. What the fuck—?"

"What do you think?" Snuffy asked, releasing Joey and stepping back proudly, arms spread.

"You only have half a mask, idiot," Billy pointed out, jogging over to tap at it. 

"For your information, the Phantom of the Opera only _wears_ half a mask," Snuffy said importantly, adjusting his black fedora. He had a long black cloak on over his jeans and sweater.

"Not in the book, smartypants," Joey said impatiently. "So, you got everything ready?"

Snuffy took off the fedora and set it atop one of the racks. "Sure thing, follow me."

"Am I gonna regret this?" Billy asked under his breath as they trailed after him.

Joey glanced over his shoulder, grinning. "Relax."

* * *

Phil snapped the compact shut and dropped it on the bed. "I hope to hell I'm not the only guy doing this."

"Don't worry," Joey said, tugging on the small gold hoop he'd switched with his ankh. "Remember last year? There were at least a few."

"Yeah, but I don't remember this much fucking makeup," Phil said, throwing a tube of lipstick at Billy when he danced near enough with one of his sword lunges. "You're gonna kill someone," he muttered.

Billy sheathed the weapon and went down on one knee, sweeping his hat off gallantly. "All for thee, milady."

"Hank will kick your ass," Phil informed him, primping his wig importantly.

Joey tightened his belt and straightened the sheath of his knife, looking up with a smirk. "You should definitely grow your hair out. Maybe by next year you won't need the wig." _I'm gonna call you Daisy till we fucking graduate_.

Billy put his hat back on and stood up, grinning at Joey. "So you're my competition, huh?"

"You're by land, I'm by sea," Joey reminded him, grabbing his plumed hat off the bed. "Stay in your own territory and we'll be just fine."

"Is that a challenge, sir?" Billy asked, hand on the hilt of his sword, eyes gleaming at Joey.

Joey tilted his hat and grabbed his books off the desk, pushing past Billy to the door. "Come on," he said. "We're gonna miss breakfast. And I don't know about you, but I can't wait to see Bradberry in a fucking tux."

"And Hank in a fro," Phil reminded them, standing up unsteadily. "I told him that if I had to wear a wig, then so did he."

"Great," Joey said, beating on the doorframe impatiently. "Let's go." _Because if I have to stand here looking at you for one more second, Tepper, the only thing I'll wanna study is what's under those fucking pants_.

* * *

"My man, what is _with_ all the fancy shit this year?" Hank asked, brushing at the velvet of Billy's coat with one gaudily-ringed hand. He sounded impressed.

"Courtesy of Mr. Bradberry," Joey said, punching Snuffy's arm affectionately.

He stepped aside, giving Hank a disdainful look. "Fancy shit? This, asshole, is _elegance_. Why don't you just go find yourself a disco?"

Hank busted a move, and Phil caught on, flouncing over to him ridiculously. Billy was laughing so hard that he hung onto Snuffy's arm. Joey spared them a laugh, then took a quick glance up the hall toward the corridor. 

"Hey, where's Ric? Don't tell me he felt bad and decided to go as a broad, too."

"I don't think so," Hank said. "The Ladies' Man is changin' his ways. You're the only one for me, baby," he told Phil, slipping an arm around his waist.

Phil simpered weakly, then shoved him off. "Fucker."

"My stomach's not gonna wait all day," Billy said impatiently, hand flying to the hilt of his sword. "If Montoya's not here by the count of ten—"

"You're on, _Señor_ Musketeer, or whoever the fuck you are," said a voice behind Joey. Something hard and fairly sharp pressed into the middle of his back. "Unless you agree to a duel, your _amigo_ here dies."

"For your information, _Zero_ ," Billy said, drawing his sword despite Snuffy's choked gasp of warning, "I'm _the_ Highwayman, and if you don't get your stupid-ass fencing rapier out of my fellow marauder's spine, I'll fucking cut it in half."

"Hey, I can defend my own honor, thanks!" Joey said, grinning over his shoulder at Ric. "Nice costume."

"Yours too," Ric said, lowering his weapon. "We're all masks and swords this year, aren't we?"

"And wigs," Snuffy reminded him, half a twist of his lips showing. "Can't forget the wigs."

"Or the fishnets, asshole," Phil said, but it was directed at Billy, and the whole gang had a laugh at Phil's expense. He drew up his skirt and showed off a black silk garter.

"Mmm- _mmm_ ," Hank said gleefully. "We're gonna have ourselves some _fun_ tonight."

"I hope you get a razor blade in your fucking chocolate," Phil said under his breath, smiling prettily.

Joey's eyes widened for a moment. _That reminds me_...

"Jesus, this is too much," Billy said, finally sheathing his sword. "Let's go eat before that _horrifying_ specter over there scares us to _death_."

Joey glanced across the hall and saw some guy dressed in a sheet with eyeholes uncover one of his hands and give Billy the finger. "Fuck you, Tepper, and the rest of your damn Village People, too." _Jesus, it's McAllister_.

Billy tipped his hat and gave the jerk a dazzling smile. "You wish. Come along, _gentlemen_."

Joey stuck close to Billy's side, casting wary glances over his shoulder the whole way to the cafeteria. _I'll cut your fucking hand off at the wrist if you so much as lay a finger on him_.

* * *

"I asked you last year, and I'll ask you again this year," said Parker. "How on _earth_ do you come up with all of this, Mr. Bradberry?"

Snuffy shrugged and grinned proudly, his hands tucked in his pockets. "What can I say, sir? I'm a costuming genius."

Parker's lips twitched around a chuckle. "Right—Mr. Tepper?"

Billy looked up from his lunch tray, eyes wide and innocent. "Mr. Parker?"

"Keep that thing under control," the Dean said, tapping the short sword with his walking stick. "The knife too, Mr. Trotta."

"Of course, sir," Joey said indifferently, tempted to laugh just as he had been the first time he saw the staff's turn-of-the-century garb on Halloween. Only the headmaster could carry it off, really, and a few of the more dignified professors. The rest just looked out of place. It made you wonder about whoever instated the tradition, but at least it was non-restrictive for the students and a hell of a lot of fun.

"Mine doesn't actually cut," Ric volunteered.

"I'm relieved," Parker said flatly, stifling another smile as he turned away.

Once he was out of earshot, Billy leaned over and said, "Hey, you can borrow the sword if you wanna leave a big fucking 'z' in the school banner."

"No thanks," Ric said, taking a sip of milk. "Besides, I think you wanna do it worse than I do."

"You're being awfully free with my props," Snuffy interrupted.

"I signed it out, didn't I?" Billy challenged. "My liability."

"Yeah, whatever," Snuffy said. He couldn't keep from smiling either.

"So who's gonna win?" Joey asked, leaning back in his chair.

Phil tapped him on the shoulder and pointed across the cafeteria. "Check out Noble's Indiana Jones duds."

"Overdone," Joey scoffed. "He just copied what Petersen did last year."

"If I don't fucking win, you losers owe me $30," Phil said smugly.

"I kinda like what Weaver's got going on, even if he's an assmunch," Snuffy volunteered.

"Too cliché!" Hank argued, straightening his oversized peace-sign pendant. " _My_ dazzling charm can outdo old Frankenstein any day."

"I think Joey's gonna nail us all," Ric said enviously.

Joey felt his cheeks heat a little, and he fiddled unimportantly with the twenty-four karat religious medallions he'd put around his neck. "Nah, I didn't put as much work into it as I could have."

"You don't _have_ to," Billy pointed out, Joey's hat by one corner and shoving it down over his eyes. "You just look the part."

"If Billy wins?" Phil said with amusement, "then I'll toss my garter."

"This is gonna be _good_ ," Hank said with wicked glee, then surreptitiously slid an arm around Phil.

* * *

"Impressive costume, Mr. Tepper," said Mr. Smith, placing a paper face-down on his desk. "I wish I could say the same for your score." He moved on to Joey's desk next, shuffling through the stack in his hands and placing the paper just as he had done with Billy's. "Well done, Mr. Trotta."

"I guess he didn't like your costume," Billy jibed, glancing over his shoulder once the economics professor was out of earshot. "A-minus? Son of a bitch."

Joey folded his paper in half and stuck it in his textbook. "What'd you get, asshole?"

"C, for your information," Billy said, doing the same with his own.

"You didn't fail," Joey said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Billy pushed his hand away. "Yeah, well, trick or treat. Guess this calls for a trick."

"You are _not_ going to cheat on the next one," Joey whispered. "We studied for this one, and we'll study again. You'll do better."

Billy just looked at him, then turned around again, waiting for the last bell of the day to ring. _I believe in your sorry ass, Billy, just like Parker does_. _Deal with it_.

They ran the whole way across the quad, met halfway by Phil. He had his shoes off, one dangling from each hand. "I couldn't take it anymore," he explained through gritted teeth.

Joey didn't stop, just shouted back over his shoulder. "Let's get these fucking books put away."

The costume assembly was an informal affair held in the cafeteria for two hours prior to dinner. If there was a strong argument for the fact that cookies, punch, and small treat bags were bound to spoil appetites, no one ever made it, not even the faculty, which would have made very little sense, given that their sponsorship was common knowledge. Joey followed Billy and Phil downstairs to find the others, still careful to stick close to Billy and keep an eye out. He wouldn't put it past McAllister to strike back.

"You ditched the shoes? Aw, man, I'm disappointed in you," Ric said, stepping lightly on his toes. He hadn't removed his Zorro mask all day, but he had removed his black overshirt and let the white one underneath hang halfway unbuttoned. _Sorry, man_. _You've got nothing on Billy_.

Phil adjusted his wig and kicked Montoya in the shin. "You want a piece of this? You'll just have to deal with my athlete's foot."

"He ain't gettin' a piece of _nothin'_ ," Hank said, taking Phil by the shoulders and sweeping him over toward the refreshments table.

"I give him credit for taking his job seriously," Snuffy said, sounding impressed over a sip of punch. He'd taken his hat off, and the mask hung around his neck. He said it had gotten kind of hard to breathe.

"Maybe a little too seriously," Billy said, fishing around in a treat bag. "I've heard one too many folks say what a cute couple they are, and one of 'em was a professor." He made a face. "Fuck, no decent chocolate. I hate Hershey's."

Joey swilled his punch around. "This definitely isn't spiked yet."

Billy drew his sword and tapped him across the arm with it. "If you'd kept all that wine, then I might've been able to fix that."

"Would've tasted better than vodka," Snuffy said in disappointment. "Hey, Billy, put that thing away."

Billy shoved the treat bag in his pocket. "I don't think so. I have a bone to pick with Captain Trotta."

Joey looked up from a last swig of his punch, startled. "Hey, you don't mean—"

" _En guarde_ ," Billy said, catching his empty cup on the point of his sword and flinging it halfway across the room.

"Billy," Ric hissed, making a grab for his arm. "You remember what Parker said—"

"I don't care what parker said," Billy replied smoothly, aiming the point of his sword at Joey's throat. "Trust me."

Joey held his gaze for a long moment. _Fuck, I'd trust you with a gun_. He drew his knife without a blink, whisking Billy's sword away in one swift blow, so that their blades were locked to one side. _But you have no idea what you're up against, do you?_

Billy's eyes stayed wide for only a second, then narrowed with a playful glint. _I can hit any ball you toss_ , they seemed to say.

 _Yeah, I bet you can_. Joey pulled his knife away and crossed Billy's blade in a dueling stance, aware of the dim murmur around them. _You could fake your way through fucking heart surgery, but you can't ace a test to save your life_.

Billy raised his eyebrows, shifting his weight forward. _Are you gonna strike or not?_

 _Whatever you want_. Joey broke the blade-lock and lunged at Billy, just as he'd practiced a thousand times against his instructor at home in New Jersey.

Billy fended off his blows with shocking accuracy, though he got in very few of his own. Joey could see the rough grace in him, the potential for a really efficient fighter. He hadn't thought he had it himself, but then, he hadn't had much choice. _You're to learn some self-defense, Joseph_. The iron in his father's voice sounded in every clash of the two mismatched blades, until even the cheering from somewhere far off and all around them faded into the background. There was only this, only Billy's labored breath and the flash of his eyes, only the pulse racing through his own limbs, the tireless practice of dagger combat. He was taking it easy on Billy, or at least he hoped. One wrong move and they'd be in a hell of a lot more trouble than— _fuck!_

Joey hooked Billy's blade with a sharp _clang_ , bringing them almost forehead to forehead over the scissor-lock. Shouts and applause burst and broke over them in waves.

"We are in so much fucking trouble," Joey breathed, but he couldn't look away. _I don't care what color your eyes are, they're fucking beautiful_. His arm was so taut he thought it might break.

"Yeah," Billy panted, somehow mustering up that wicked-ass grin reserved for pranks of the worst sort. "But it's worth it."

"Put the weapons _down!_ —Mr. Tepper, Mr. Trotta." Parker stepped up to the left of them, his voice like ice.

"Yes, sir," Joey said levelly, breaking the blade-lock without so much as a blink or a glance sideways. An audible gasp rose from the onlookers.

Billy breathed out hard and took a step back, still grinning as he replaced the sword in its scabbard. "No problem."

"Look at me," Parker said sternly.

Joey turned to face him, sheathing the knife swiftly. There was another hushed stir, but Joey ignored it. 

"I trust that Mr. Bradberry made the school's policy on prop weapons perfectly clear to both of you before lending those out?"

"Yes, sir," Billy said, already relaxed into his usual defiant stance.

"Mine's not a prop," Joey said calmly. "I'm sorry, sir."

For a split second, Parker looked alarmed. "I'll take both of those, if you please," he said, holding out both hands.

Billy made a moderately sulky show of removing the sword from his belt. Joey unbuckled his own and slipped the knife free expressionlessly, handing it over without hesitation. _It's my own fault for not being able to fucking resist you, Billy_.

Parker held his gaze for a moment, looking almost worried. "Were you not aware of our _non_ -prop weapons policy, Mr. Trotta?" he said softly.

"Yes, sir, I was." _Use it only if you must, Joseph_. _If you're caught, they'll be all over us in a blink_.

"I'll let it slide, since Mr. Tepper here obviously egged you on," Parker continued. "But you won't be seeing this again till the end of the semester."

"I understand," Joey said tersely. He was grateful that their classmates had more or less subsided into restless, scattered conversation of their own.

"As for you, Mr. Tepper," Parker said, accepting Billy's sword, "you are henceforth prohibited from signing out props, and your prize is forfeit."

Billy blinked. "My _what?_ "

"Mr. Bradberry here was runner up," Parker informed the assembly in a loud voice, "but he's just been promoted to grand prize. Carry on, gentlemen."

The room erupted into a confused mix of whistles, cheers, and jeers. Joey found it hard to stay annoyed for long; Snuffy's jubilation was worth quite a few claps on the back, and even Billy seemed to think so. There was a muted disappointment in them, though, when their eyes met over Snuffy's shoulder. _I know_ , Joey thought. _I won it for you, then we had to go and ruin the whole fucking thing_. It wasn't so bad, in the long run. He'd get his knife back, and Snuffy would likely have the sword back by the next morning to be locked away safely with the costumes.

"Hey," Ric said, shaking Joey's shoulder, "where'd you _learn_ that shit?"

"Home," Joey said, still looking at Billy. _Don't be so shocked, huh?_

Hank whistled. "Remind me not to piss you off. That was some _smooth_ movin', my man!" Joey accepted the high five bonelessly. He just wanted to—

"Remind _me_ never to trust you fuckers again," Snuffy said, trying to sound angry, but he was grinning from ear to ear. Or so Joey guessed; he had put the mask back on.

"What's the prize this year?" Phil asked, eyes darting from Joey to Billy, then back again. _I bet we had you scared shitless, Daisy_.

"It had better be a fucking free homework pass," Snuffy said. "I've had it up to here with Smith's bullshit."

"A-fucking-men," Billy agreed. He pushed between Phil and Snuffy, stepping closer to Joey. "I, um, think we'd better find our hats before Parker has our asses for damaging school property."

"Jesus!" Joey swept his hand through his hair, shocked to find it missing. And it hadn't even registered that Billy was no longer wearing his, either.

"Over there," Ric said, pointing to the right. "Can't see yours, Joey."

Giles looked around warily, then pushed his way over to a noisy bunch of freshmen and snatched it away from the guy in the middle. "Captain Trotta," he said with a salute, setting it firmly on Joey's head.

"Thanks, man," Joey murmured. It was really fucking easy to laugh, come to think of it.

"Well, that's settled," Billy said, striding back over to them, replacing his own hat. "And off the record, we're splitting the fucking prize, Snuffy."

"Blow me." Snuffy was too proud to start an argument.

Joey pushed his way over to Billy, grateful that the others quickly subsided back into congratulating Snuffy. "Hey, so does that mean I get a cut, too?"

"Dammit, I get the point. I was just kidding," Billy said, batting his eyes from beneath the brim of his hat.

Joey gave him a wry grin. "You wouldn't be half bad with knives, Billy."

"Teach me sometime?" Billy suggested. 

"Yeah, but not now," Joey said, taking him by the arm and steering him off to the side as if they were headed for the refreshments. "Trick or treat?" Joey asked, stopping them just a few feet away from the punch.

"I've had enough of your tricks for one day, all things considered," Billy said with disarming honesty. "You could've diced me with that thing."

"Treat it is," Joey said, beckoning for Billy to follow him to the door. "I don't have a fucking thing left up my sleeve, anyway."

Billy grinned mischievously and jogged after Joey, scooting him into the hall. "I do."

"Hey, what about dinner?" Joey protested halfway up the steps.

"If this has anything to do with those chocolates in your closet, then dinner can wait."

Joey hit Billy's arm. "You nosy fuck."

"Shut up," Billy said as they reached the top of the stairs, grinning like a maniac, "and go get them. I'll wait here."

Joey sighed and decided it was probably best not to ask any questions. He owed Billy that much, at least, for having kicked his ass in a potentially dangerous duel, but Billy didn't need to know that. It could remain a draw in his mind, for all Joey cared. _Which is a hell of a lot, and I hope you know that_.

* * *

"Forget Parker," Joey groaned, picking his way carefully down the creek's bank to where Billy was perched precariously on a stone, picking at the wire that held the storm drain shut with a pair of pliers. "Snuffy's gonna have our asses for messing these boots up."

"We haven't messed them up yet," Billy said, twisting the wire patiently. "At least I haven't. Why don't you take a lesson from Phil and take the suckers off, if you're so worried?"

"And step on broken glass or something? No thanks," Joey retorted. "I'm sure that upperclassmen have been sneaking booze down here ever since this place opened."

"Then you'll have to be careful," Billy warned, murmuring a triumphant _ah!_ as the wire fell away and the grate swung loose. "It's impossible to climb through here without getting at least your toes damp."

Joey waved the package of chocolates in his face. "This'll make navigation pretty fucking difficult, asshole."

"Hey, whose idea was it to leave the hats behind, huh? You think I haven't thought this out a little bit? Give me some credit."

"Yeah, okay," Joey sighed. "You crawl through first, then I'll toss it to you. Even if you drop it, the wrapping's all that should get wet."

"You're fucking hilarious," Billy laughed, his voice echoing as he crawled awkwardly forward, straddling impressively to toe the rusted waterlines on either side of the pipe's curved walls, which gave Joey a pretty fantastic view of his ass. _Fucking tease_. "This is low tide, trust me, and here you are making a fuss."

"Shut up, turn around, and get ready to catch," Joey said curtly, testing his weight on the stone and crouching down carefully. Billy was crouched on some rocks at the other side, waiting. "One...two... _three!_ "

There was a soft splash, then Billy fished around hastily in the water, shaking the package of truffles off. "Oops."

Joey shook his head and braced his hands against the rusty roof of the massive drain, stepping inside with one foot, then the other. "Let's see if this is as easy as you make it look, fucker."

Billy just sat there, tapping his fingers on the plastic packaging and looking as amused as hell. "Yeah, let's see..."

Painstakingly, Joey made it across, but at the last minute, his left foot slipped and the leather boot ended up more or less covered in mud. Billy chuckled and offered him a hand, pulling him to dry safety on the other side.

"Could've been worse," Billy said, tugging Joey close for the first time in a few days.

"Fuck you," Joey mumbled into his mouth, returning the kiss fiercely. _Jesus, I've wanted to do this all day_. "Where the hell are we going?" Joey asked when he could speak again.

Billy started up the embankment, drawing Joey up after him in a tight, careful grip. "Someplace I've been meaning to show you since...oh, I don't know, Sunday. You'll see."

"I guess we're going for the gold, huh?" Joey asked in resignation. "If we get caught, I don't wanna know what'll happen."

"Then don't think about it," Billy said, leading him up over a final rise and into a stretch of woods. "We're not gonna get caught. Parker's had his fun with us for now. He's probably too busy keeping an eye on Donoghue. The guys told me about last year."

Joey laughed, and as they continued walking, he didn't let go of Billy's hand. "Yeah, that was a t.p. job for the ages, let me tell you."

Billy looked at him, eyes dancing proudly. "You were in on that?"

"Hell yeah," Joey said. "After a bit of persuasion, I guess. Snuffy snagged me."

Billy's eyes darkened a little. "Snuffy, huh?"

"Oh, come on," Joey said, reaching over with his free hand to shove Billy's shoulder. "He doesn't hold a candle to you."

Billy stopped and turned to face him fully, squeezing his hand. "Jesus, do you mean—"

"No," Joey said firmly, his heart leaping into his throat. " _Fuck_ , no. I'm talking in the persuasion department only, Billy. The day Snuffy flirts with me, I'm sure that's the day hell freezes over." _If I ever made you think for any reason—Jesus, I'm fucking sorry_... _!_

Billy let out his breath. "Oh. That's good."

Joey stepped up closer to him and slid an arm around his waist, stroking down low enough to give his ass a good squeeze through that tight leather. "Can we get to wherever the fuck we're going so I can get you out of these?" _No underwear? God, you asked for it_.

"That, uh, sounds like a good idea," Billy replied, clearing his throat.

If Joey thought about it hard enough, he could remember those idle days during the summer when he'd stood in the bell tower, scanning the near-distant landscape and wondering how it might be possible to reach that small, sunny meadow just beyond the rising crest of trees. Billy had figured it out, of course, because there they were, standing on a sunset-touched vista amidst high, swaying grass, looking down over the valley. Regis was fucking beautiful, really, from a distance.

"No tricks up here?" Joey asked softly, half in awe.

"Nah, just the view," Billy replied, leaning to brush his lips against Joey's neck.

Joey shivered and closed his eyes against the bright flood of gold that washed over his face as the clouds shifted. "I'll bet I can improve it," he murmured.

Billy didn't protest when he took the truffles away and tossed them down in the grass, or when he unbuttoned Billy's cuffs and tugged the loose white shirt free of his pants. Joey tugged it up over Billy's head carefully, doubling it over on itself before tossing it down beside the chocolate. "Yeah," he said, running his hands slowly from Billy's shoulders down to his belly, "that's definitely..." _Fucking stupid mythology class, I swear if I hadn't taken that I wouldn't be standing here thinking I'm touching some god that I have no fucking right_...

It was too hard to keep thinking when Billy kissed him like that, his breaths in between were full of half-spoken words and fragments of his name. Too hard to _want_ to keep thinking when Billy's hands worked their way up under his own shirt, warm and scattering goosebumps in the wake of the breeze. Any colder than this and Joey might complain; any other circumstances and he would have said, _Someone'll start to wonder before too long, we should head back_. Not now, not now that his shirt was gone, too, and Billy was tugging him down in the grass and almost begging him not to look so fucking worried, and _fuck_ he tasted better than any chocolates ever could, and Joey struggled to kick out of his boots, thinking maybe they wouldn't make it out of those damn tight pants after all.

"Why's this always such a fucking problem?" Billy murmured huskily, pulling away to shove his own boots down far enough to be kicked away, too. They'd hit just above the knee. 

"More than usual," Joey mumbled, sprawling back in the grass and pulling Billy down on top of him. _I'm gonna make you beg_ , Joey thought, moaning with the excitement that tore through him. They were really doing this, really doing this _outside_. Far enough for no one else to hear, not even a whimper. He wrapped a leg around Billy's and trapped him tight, grinding up against him frantically.

Billy groaned, pinning him down with a hard, involuntary jerk of his hips. "What the _fuck_ d'you think— _Joey!_ "

He squirmed out from under Billy just long enough to reach up and unbutton his pants. "You tortured me all fucking day."

Billy helped with his own pants and wiggled out of them impatiently, then attacked Joey's. "Oh yeah? I was fucking _provoked_ ," he whispered, covering Joey's mouth with his own as he threw the second pair of pants aside.

Joey didn't have a proper response for that, except for a desperate cry and a hard tug at Billy's hips and— _there_ , oh _fuck_ there, they were kissing and moving helplessly against each other and sobbing _oh, fuck, Billy, don't stop that, don't_ — _!_

"Oh, _Jesus_ ," Billy gasped, shuddering before Joey had quite finished and _ohhhhfuck_ it felt good when he kept moving like that, all slick against his stomach. Joey tangled his fingers in Billy's hair and found his mouth again with a gasp, and _mmmm_ , that one lasted a long time. Breathing, the rest of the world, whatever. He could forget about all of it...

"Hey, Joey," Billy whispered, kissing his ear softly.

"Hm?" Joey opened his eyes a sliver, then shut them again. _God, you're so warm_.

"You slept a little," Billy told him, nuzzling his hair. Something smooth pressed against his lips. _What the fuck was that?_

"Huh?"

"Don't tell me you're not hungry. Your stomach's been growling for fifteen minutes."

"Fuck," Joey said, and tasted sweetness. He bit into it clumsily and chewed.

"S'good, isn't it?" Billy asked. Joey opened his eyes and saw Billy stick the other half of the marbled shell into his own mouth.

"Mm," Joey answered. _Really, really fucking good_. "Especially when _you_ eat it."


	6. Omerta

Vittorio Palma's reports have always been as insightful as they have been thorough. Albert Trotta rose from his desk, paper in hand, and took a habitual stroll of the room. This piece of correspondence—disguised as a simple letter, postmarked Boston—was a factor in continuing to ensure his son Joseph's safety, as was every missive to arrive bearing such a hand and stamp. Palma had been hired as a janitor at Regis a month before Albert's son started there in the fall of his sophomore year. It had been necessary to make sure that certain things stopped, primarily the torment that came as a result of public high school.

Albert paused in front of the bookcase, running the letter through his fingers. The gilded frames on the middle shelf, these were worth more to him than many a costly thing housed in his study. Pictures of Joseph as a toddler, sitting in the grass with wide, dark eyes fixed on a dandelion, or taking his first hesitant steps toward Albert crouched on the carpet with his arms outstretched. He remembered Theresa beaming behind the camera. 

Pictures of Joseph at three, four, five—birthday cakes and soccer balls, pencils and crayons scattered about the floor after his latest raid on the kitchen drawer, and the drawings, always the drawings. Houses in winter with corkscrew spirals of smoke in charcoal grey, houses in summer with _Joey_ -figures and _Mom_ -figures standing on the front walk. Houses in autumn with _Daddy_ -figures pulling a rake through the waxy leaves, all shaped differently, all fierce and bright under the determined movements of that tiny left hand. Albert touched the frame, fine Italian silver, and saw Theresa crouched behind Joseph, a dash of dark hair falling in her hazel eyes, her fingers pressed to her lips against a tearful smile. Pictures of Joseph as an infant, cradled in an exhausted-looking Theresa's arms. His wife's slim fingers tucking her shining hair behind her ear this time, her lips parted on something contrary to the camera. _Al, I look awful_.

Albert closed his eyes and gave his answer; he knew it by heart. _Not my son, honey—but you don't, either!_ He blinked and looked at Theresa again, then at his son lying fast asleep, his son's tiny, fragile hand curled around his mother's finger. _Two days old and he grabs everything that comes near enough_ , the nurse had said. _Those little hands are strong._

Strong enough for other things, as time passed by. Strong enough for grasping the handlebars of bike with undaunted determination, for cradling the cover of a book, for taking a freshly sharpened pencil and producing a carefully shaded portrait to hold up before his mother's startled eyes. _Twelve years old_ , Albert thought, seeking out the birthday photograph. He had given Joseph some colored pencils, the largest and finest set he could find. His son held the tin up for the camera almost awkwardly, his eyes focused and questioning. _It's, um_... _really big, Dad,_ he had said. _I think they'll last me ten years_.

Albert sighed and leaned against the burnished mahogany shelf, hiding his face behind his hand. How could he accuse the boy of being too perceptive, what when he had been so similar in his youth? He had known sooner than Joseph, even, what his own father's enterprise meant. The sheer immensity, the _establishment_. Albert rubbed his eyes, then found the one photograph that he could never look at for long. Joseph, barely fourteen, his gaze dark and somber, standing there slender and still in a suit against the black iron railing of the church steps. Looking up just in time to see his uncle with the camera, just in time for the flash to freeze the hate in his eyes forever. _I know why this happened_. _How could you?_ Albert's brother had apologized for taking the picture; he said he hadn't known Joey was aware of anyone nearby. And hell, it was heartbreaking, but it was a striking scene. He wanted to remember the boy like that, so grown-up. Albert had just breathed through his tears and said, _Make sure you get double prints_.

Joseph almost never smiled for the camera. Even in the earliest pictures, his eyes did most of the talking. Inquisitive or fearful, thoughtful or uncertain—there was always something there, something so much clearer than if the boy had simply _said_ it. From the church stairs through a brief succession of school photographs: eighth, ninth, tenth grades. Rigid posture against the dusty blue backgrounds, lips set in a line of stern neutrality. Collared shirts, hair falling carelessly across his forehead, and his earring, that damned earring. Better that than a tattoo, Albert had decided in the end. No identifying marks for the police.

Albert paused, then reached up to take the most recently added frame in his hand. Joseph's junior year picture, from just a month ago. Palma's weekly letter had been tucked inside the envelope with the prints from the photographer. And it had explained why Joey was _smiling_. Nothing blatant—just a soft, sure curve of the lips, unusual light in his eyes. As if something else had caught his attention, and according to Palma, something had.

_You know the usual gang he's with, the five musketeers? The Tepper boy was screwing around with the others in line while Joey was in the chair, messing up hair and collars and stuff like that. Your son glanced over that way for just a second, and Tepper turned around and grinned at him. There seemed to be some connection there. A private exchange, if you will._

Tepper. In the summer, that name had been the very first to appear. Knowing who Joseph was living with, that was an unquestionable priority. As far as Albert could tell from Palma’s letters, William Tepper was a mischievously clever boy. A reprobate and prankster, but mostly harmless. An unlikely friend for Joseph, however, inasmuch as Albert knew his son: a sharp-minded, conscientious student who had been at the top of his freshman class. It had come as a surprise when, by the end of June, Palma had written— _they do everything together_.

 _Keep a closer eye on them_ , Albert had written back. _Find out about that Tepper boy_. _Who he is, what his folks do_.

The name was something of a dead giveaway, granted. When Palma’s next letter reported that William was the son of contracting giant David Tepper, it served merely as confirmation. William’s father and his wife, the owner of a successful real estate enterprise, had gone through an apparently bitter divorce some years back. Their son, it seemed, was either constantly abandoned to his schooling ( _he’s been expelled from three different places to date_ ) or a pawn in his parents’ continuing squabbles. William avoided mention of home and _going_ home at all costs. Albert had crumpled the letter and swallowed around the tightness in his throat.

His response to Palma had been one line: _Does William Tepper know?_

The answer had come in Palma’s very next letter, as if the boys had somehow been anticipating Albert’s query. Joseph had gotten into a scuffle with a classmate on the soccer field—precisely how it had started, Palma was not certain—that resulted in the hurling of insults, then blows. _Joseph’s lip was bloodied before the Tepper boy could pull him away_. _Tepper took him to the infirmary, but I can’t be sure what happened after that_. _They didn’t show up at dinner_.

Joseph trusted William Tepper, then. Trusted him enough to take an evening to explain exactly why slurs like _dago_ and _wop_ were enough to fan his remarkable temper into flames. In the letters that followed, nothing changed-except that the boys seemed closer than ever, and that they _both_ ended up in the dean’s office as a result of young Tepper’s next prank. The victim? Joseph’s enemy on the soccer field. In spite of himself, Albert had folded the paper and smiled. William lived by familiar principles.

Albert placed the picture frame back on the shelf and sighed heavily. The letter in his hand now was nothing to smile about. The week before, on Halloween, Joseph had been caught using his knife in a duel with the Tepper boy. Entirely playful, as far as Palma could tell: he had been collecting trash in the cafeteria during the costume assembly. He had seen almost the whole thing. Troubled, Albert opened the letter again.

In all of his experience, the only things ever to incite Joseph’s rashness were matters of hurt or insult. Palma’s account gave no indication of any such occurrence: _both of them handed their weapons over to Dean Parker without a fuss_. _Your son was a perfect gentleman about it, but Tepper sulked a little_. _Parker won’t return the knife till the end of the semester_. _I kept a lookout after that, but the boys didn’t stick around for long_. _They fooled around with the others for a few minutes, then slipped out the door_. _I couldn’t find them again for the rest of the day, but after dark, I checked the costume storage for the stuff that Jonathan Bradberry loaned them_. _The hats were back, and so were Tepper’s coat and sword belt_. _I found both pairs of boots, too_. _There was mud all over one that your son wore_. _I checked the soles of the others and found more_. _They must’ve snuck out somewhere_.

Albert turned around and crossed the room quickly, returning to his desk. More pictures beamed at him from amidst the stacks of paper and utilitarian objects, Theresa’s candid smile from college through motherhood. Joseph appeared in a few of the shots, small and clinging to her hand or knees, tall and holding her about the shoulders with a protective arm. Family portraits, only three of those: the most recent had been taken a year before Theresa’s death. Albert tore his eyes away and picked up the phone. He had the number on speed dial.

“Regis School, administrative office. How may I help you?” He recognized the secretary’s voice, soft and even with a Boston accent.

“I’d like to leave a message for my son,” Albert said. “Joseph Trotta, room 203. He’d be at lunch about now.”

“Certainly, Mr. Trotta. What’s your message?”

“Tell him to call home. It’s not urgent, but I’d like to hear from him before the week’s out.” Albert glanced at the calendar on his desk. Monday, November 5th. “Within the next couple of days. Just so he knows it’s not an emergency or anything.”

“That’s no trouble, Mr. Trotta. Anything else?”

“That’s it,” Albert said. “Thank you.”

“Have a nice day,” the secretary said, then hung up.

The phone rang less than half an hour later, while Albert was reviewing the latest report from one of his contacts in South America over lunch. Only Santorini would have the nerve to call and interrupt a man’s meal. Albert picked up the phone, annoyed. 

“Albert Trotta speaking,” he said sharply.

“Dad.” Joseph’s voice shook a little.

 _Holy Mother, forgive me_. “Son, I’m sorry. It’s nothing—”

“Yeah, I know,” he said flatly. “Miss Allen’s note said you just wanted me to call.”

“Are you in private?”

His son hesitated briefly. “Phone booth, Dad. This is as private as it gets around here.”

“Good,” Albert said. “I was thinking, your Thanksgiving break—it’s coming up pretty soon.”

“We're off from the 22nd till the 30th, yeah. Why?” Joey asked, sounding annoyed and somewhat puzzled.

“You’re still coming home, aren’t you?” Albert asked. “I’ve missed you.”

“I know. Yeah, I guess I am. I didn’t get any invitations. But—”

“You have a pretty close friend there, don’t you?” Albert began awkwardly. He bit his lip, wondering just how angry the boy would get when he realized that his old man had been spying. 

“I have a few,” Joseph said.

“Your roommate,” Albert ventured. “Does he have anywhere to go?”

“Which _one_ , Dad? I have two.”

Albert drew in his breath. He couldn’t afford to be delicate about this. “William Tepper,” he said. “Now, does your friend have anywhere to go for break?”

Another one of those tense, almost panicked pauses. “No, he doesn’t. That’s why I was going to ask you if maybe I could stay—”

“Invite him here,” Albert said firmly. “I want to meet him.”

His son’s breath was somewhere on the verge of snapping. “Okay.”

“Good. Are your studies going well?”

“Just great,” Joseph said in a choked voice.

“Fine, then. I won’t take up any more of your time. You must have class soon.”

“Yes.” Almost a hiss.

“I’ll call you in a week or so about transportation, all right? Then you can let me know what William’s parents say.”

“His Mom and Dad don’t give—they don’t care.” Anger, sudden and protective. “Yeah, okay. Sounds good.”

“I love you, son,” Albert said.

“Yeah, Dad. Talk to you later.” Then a moment of silence, and a split second before the click, Joseph’s voice clear and pained—

" _Billy_."

* * *

Rain came instead of snow, steady and drizzling. Albert paced in the entryway, glancing briefly at the grandfather clock in the corner. He had told Joseph the day before to make sure that he and his friend were ready at eleven; they would find a car waiting in the pickup area on the hour. If all had gone well, they would be arriving in less than thirty minutes. It was almost five o'clock, and Albert intended to meet them at the door. He had not seen his son since August, though he anticipated that Joseph's greeting would not be so warm. He had mailed another knife the day after receiving news of the original one's confiscation.

Ten minutes' lingering proved fruitless, so Albert made a methodical check of everything that he had instructed the servants to put in order: refrigerator stocked well enough for two hungry teenage boys to take a deli-style dinner at leisure, the adjoining room to Joseph's made up fresh for a guest. This, too, was pointless—Alessandro and Carl had never once failed to carry out instructions thoroughly, and Rosemary had finished with the bed linens and cleaning by three o'clock. For the most part, it had been an uneventful day, except for the waiting. Albert wondered how well his son could truly prepare the Tepper boy for a visibly-armed waitstaff and bodyguards, or for the fact that he could in no way risk letting them out of the house.

Carl arrived with news of their arrival while Albert was in the kitchen. They strode out into the hall to find Alessandro already there, one eye fixed warily on the peephole. He moved aside with an affirmative nod. Albert stepped up to the lens and saw, down the porch stairs and through the steady rain, his driver stride around the limousine to open the passenger door facing the house. He moved immediately on to the trunk to retrieve their bags. 

Joseph emerged first, pushing the door back the whole way and squinting out into the dusk, as if he had slept for a while. He shook his hand free of the raindrops, then climbed out carefully, turning immediately to offer a hand to the boy that climbed out after him. Wavy, dark blond hair that curled damply in the rain; an apprehensive, curious expression as he gave Joseph's hand a nearly imperceptible squeeze and let go, then shut the car door behind them. Both boys were in jeans and tennis-shoes, but judging by the collared shirts, they had made some effort to dress up. Joseph's guest made a move toward the driver as he passed and started up the walk with their bags, but Joseph stayed him with a reassuring hand against his back and urged him up the walkway. He moved with careless grace, but his eyes darted here and there, sizing up the house and what he could see of the grounds. Joseph's eyes were fixed straight ahead, his hand hovering at the Tepper boy's shoulder. Albert backed away from the peephole and waited for the doorbell to ring.

More of a formality than a necessity, that doorbell. After a single brisk chime, Alessandro opened the door just wide enough to let them in one by one. Albert explained briefly to his driver where the bags are to go, then turned to face the boys as Alessandro bolted the door and set the alarm for the night. Joseph stood with his arms folded casually, trying for patient, but coming across as put-upon, and the Tepper boy edged closer to him as Alessandro passed, standing there with a nervous and anticipatory half smile on his face.

"It's good to see you, Joseph," Albert said, reaching to embrace his son. The boy complied, but stiffly.

"You too." He pulled away and took a step back, hand briefly darting out to glide over his friend's back as it had when they exited the car. "Dad, this is Billy." The boys exchanged a brief look, but what passed between them, Albert could not tell.

"Welcome to our home, Mr. Tepper," he said, extending a hand. "Have you been to New Jersey before?"

Billy accepted the handshake tentatively but firmly, meeting Albert's eyes with steadiness in his own. "Thanks. No, sir, I haven't really. Just passing through, I guess."

"Are you from New England?"

"Kind of," Billy said, letting go of Albert's hand and glancing at Joseph again. "My father's from New York. Mother currently lives in Connecticut."

"Not far at all," Albert said, smiling at him. There was an earnest directness to the kid, never mind what his school profile said. He glanced at his son and gestured them in the direction of the kitchen. "You must be hungry by now."

"Yeah, I'd say that's accurate," Joseph said. Starting with the sarcasm already.

"There's quite a bit to choose from in the fridge. Anything's free game," Albert said, lingering in the doorway as his son flipped the light switch and led Billy over to the refrigerator. "I'm afraid I have a bit more work to do this evening, but I'm looking forward to spending time with both of you tomorrow. We'll have a big breakfast, how about that?"

"Sounds great, Mr. Trotta," Billy said, turning briefly away from Joseph, who rummaged authoritatively and handed provisions out one by one. Billy smiled awkwardly, then set them on the counter, turning back to see if more was forthcoming.

Albert smiled again, then nodded, wondering if the boy would loosen up enough to even enjoy his time off. "Joseph."

His son closed the refrigerator and looked up, package of fresh brick cheese in his left hand. "Yeah?"

"Once you finish eating, show Billy to his room so he can get settled in. I'd like a brief word with you."

There went both sets of eyes again, an almost subconscious darting of one to the other. "Sure thing, Dad," Joseph said, taking the proscuitto from his friend and setting both on the counter with the rest of the items.

Albert looked at Billy one more time before heading upstairs. "We're very glad to have you."

"Glad to be here," he said, smile lingering a moment longer than before. He turned around quickly and found Joseph fishing in the silverware drawer. To lean over his friend's shoulder and watch, every line of his posture radiated relief.

* * *

Joseph didn't knock. He barged right through the door of Albert's study and didn't stop till he had practically tripped over the edge of the desk. "All right, what's this all about, and who the...who the _hell_ do you have breathing down my neck at school?" 

"It's for your protection," Albert said levelly, sliding the piece of paper aside and glancing up to meet his son's passionately blazing eyes. "You should know that by now."

"Like I could _ever_ forget," Joseph said furiously, making a vague gesture at the backs of the picture frames on his desk.

Albert closed his eyes for a moment, tapping his pen against his jaw. "Joseph..."

"I'm sorry about the knife," he blurted unexpectedly. "But why'd you send another one, huh? If Parker does a room inspection, I'm history. I'll be getting my old one back. You could've just left it at that."

"Am I to understand you meant it simply for a part of your costume? Who started the duel?"

Joseph shifted his weight and glanced down at his hands on the edge of the desk. "I did."

 _Why are you lying to me, son?_ Albert tilted his head and set the pen down, fixing him with an inquiring look. "Do you really think that was wise?"

"I thought...Jesus, Dad! We were having fun," Joseph argued imploringly. "That's it. If Parker hadn't been in that part of the caf, then maybe we wouldn't have gotten caught."

"Don't put your faith in 'maybe', Joseph. Ever," Albert said sternly. "The consequences will be _severe_ if I hear of such a thing happening again."

His son swallowed, looking more helpless than anything else. "I understand," he said with a terse nod. "But—Dad?"

"Yes?"

"You still didn't answer my question. I have the right to that."

"That's for me to decide," Albert responded carefully. "Which question?"

Joseph's eyes went hot again. "You know what I'm talking about."

"Does a parent no longer deserve the right to meet his son's best friend? And does a son of uncaring parents—as you pointed out—not deserve a place to spend the holiday?"

Joey glared, then glanced at his fingers again. "I'm sorry."

Albert reached across the desk and touched his son's hands. "Joseph..."

"Good night, Dad," he said quietly, pulling his hands briskly away before turning back toward the door.

"Son."

Joseph turned around halfway, fixing him with an unreadable look. "Yes?"

Albert laced his fingers together atop the stack of papers. "Did you win?"

Joey's eyes showed confusion for a moment, then darkened with with something fierce and proud. " _Yes_."

"Good," Albert said, and waved him out the door.

For the next hour, the upstairs remained remarkably quiet. Albert would have expected to hear music from the vicinity of his son's room, or talking in the very least. He made a last phonecall, then put the report aside. Some investigation was in order, simply to clear his conscience. He hoped that Billy Tepper wouldn't spend the entire visit casting nervous glances over his shoulder.

Alessandro was on duty in the surveillance suite. Albert slipped inside quietly without announcing his presence; by now, both employees understood that he came and went as he pleased, and might take over an evening's shift on a moment's notice. Alessandro looked up from the switchboard and nodded silent greeting. Albert stood behind him, studying the various screens that flickered before them in the dim light. Various different points in the house were constantly watched by more than twenty cameras. At the time of installation, Albert hadn't cared what it would cost. He had learned how to operate every single switch, and he had even left a handful of functions unknown to his staff.

"Quiet nights we've been having," Alessandro commented, switching the feed from the camera in the front hall over to a view of the driveway from the front porch.

"That's the way I intend to keep it," Albert said. He leaned over and indicated the switch that controlled the camera in the hall outside his son's room. He glanced up at the corresponding screen and saw that the door was closed, and scarce light filtered from beneath it. Albert flipped the switch to the right, and a new image flickered to life. He heard Alessandro shift in the chair.

Joseph had his desk lamp turned on, and the entire row of tall, cylindrical candles on the chest at the far side of the room were lit. There was probably some of that monastery incense that the boy's uncle had brought back from Italy burning somewhere, too, though Albert couldn't see any telltale smoke. Joseph lay stretched out on his bed, shirt untucked and shoes kicked off, his arms tucked under his head against the pillow. Billy sat at the foot of the bed, his attire in similar condition. He had both legs drawn up, sitting casual Indian-style, facing Joseph while they talked. In Albert's mind, the boys' voices were hushed. 

Their expressions were drawn, almost somber. Billy said something with his brow furrowed, gesturing at Joseph for emphasis. The boy stretched his arms out haphazardly, then made some reply with a look that Albert very well knew to be reassuring. Joseph sat up, and it was all that Albert could do to keep from catching his breath when his son's lips turned up in a smile identical to his school photograph. Joseph said something else, the smile breaking even wider, almost as if he were laughing. Billy's expression relaxed a little, and he picked at the overstuffed duvet, grinning. Joey reached over to tug the second pillow up beside him, then gestured for Billy to join him sitting propped against the wall. He reached over to the desk and picked up what Albert recognized as one of his old sketchbooks. Billy glanced toward the open door of the adjoining room, in which no light switches had been touched. He leaned forward and said something with a tentative smile.

Albert flipped the switch down, and the screen went dark. "I don't want them to have to put up with that, whether they know about it or not," Albert said firmly. "This camera stays off."

"Understood, sir," Alessandro said, reaching to one side for the ashtray and pulling out his pack of cigarettes.

Albert grabbed his wrist. "Not while the boys are in the house."

* * *

Albert rose early enough to see to it that Rosemary had started breakfast. He had given her fair warning: her services would be required that morning, but the rest of the holiday was hers to do with as she pleased. Albert found her busily scrambling eggs, her fine black eyes fixed on a perfect circle of batter beginning to simmer in the frying pan. She glanced briefly over her shoulder, acknowledging Albert with a slight lowering of the lashes.

"Smells wonderful, Rose," he said honestly. "How much time till I ought to drag the boys out of bed?"

"Give me fifteen minutes," she said, abandoning the bowl of eggs to flip the pancake with practiced ease. She wiped her hands on a small towel, then tucked it under the band of her apron, just over the soft curve of her hip. "You're not sleeping these days," she observed in a quiet voice, moving back to the bowl of eggs and emptying it into a second pan.

Albert leaned in the doorway, eyes fixed on the dark, shining braid that reached halfway down her back. "I've been concerned about Joseph, that's all."

"You're always concerned about Joseph," she said affectionately, turning the electric heat on beneath the pan. "Your son's just fine, I'm sure of it. Home for a week or so? And he really brought a friend?"

"Yes," Albert said, running his fingers through his hair. _Sometimes I wonder how you know it's better that you don't look at me_.

"Then I'll be on my best behavior," Rosemary said wryly, adding some salt and pepper to the eggs, then measuring out another even puddle of batter. The gold filigree around her neck gleamed under the bright stove light.

"I'd better go warn the boys," Albert said, turning quickly for the stairs.

Joseph's door was closed, but the morning light seeping from beneath told Albert that his son had forgotten to draw the blinds. He knocked once and cleared his throat. "Good morning, son."

An indistinct rustle, then a soft gasp. "Dad?"

"Go and wake your friend. Breakfast's almost ready."

"Right," Joey said, and there was more rustling, uncertain and sluggish. "See you down there."

Albert went back downstairs and headed straight for the dining room, not wanting to bother Rosemary again. She was a loyal, strong-hearted woman and an efficient worker. Only whenever she looked at him did Albert feel that he was not really in control of his own empire, as if he might fall to pieces if not for her smallest practical efforts. And her warmth, always her warmth. She shared a part of herself that no one since Theresa had been willing to share. And even then...

At the sound of irregular footsteps on the stairs, Albert glanced up from contemplation of the finely painted plate in front of him. A few moments later the soft voices came, Billy's distinctly higher than his son's. Something about how it already _smelled_ better than anything in the caf. Then there was a soft _ow_ , and Joey's sharp whisper. _Be polite, okay?_ Billy's answer came soft and sullen. _Well, I was!_ They appeared in the doorway looking half disheveled, both of them in sweats and clean, wrinkled t-shirts. Barefoot.

"'Morning, Dad," Joey said with a lazy wave, yawning as he gestured Billy over to the nearest seat. The Tepper boy nodded at Albert, his smile less forced than before. Joey slipped into the seat beside him, his various wristbands brushing against the tablecloth as he ran his fingertips over the silverware. "Haven't seen this in a long time," he mumbled around another yawn.

"It's a special occasion," Albert said, returning Billy's steady gaze. "Is the mattress in your room comfortable enough?"

Billy sent his fork and knife clattering to the floor with a sharp lowering of his elbow, murmuring earnest apologies as he gathered them up again. "It's just fine, sir. Never slept better in my life."

Joey was staring at him, startled. "You need to wake up, man," he said with a shaky smile.

Billy shrugged and grinned brightly at Albert. "I'm not a morning person."

Joseph sucked in his breath and smiled. He didn't say a thing.

* * *

"Your son," Carl informed Albert, swiveling around in the chair, "is kicking his friend's _ass_ at that stupid video game. Want to see?"

"Why not," Albert replied casually, stepping up behind him.

"I never understand what the hell's going on," Carl said, "but your company's not taking it too well."

The rec room's camera was situated in the corner just above the television set, affording them a clear view of both the boys' faces in profile. Joseph was smirking triumphantly, fingers agile on the keypad clutched in his hands. Billy sat very still, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he tapped his own keypad impatiently against his khaki-covered knee. Joseph glanced at him sidelong and laughed, leaning over far enough to elbow him, eyes darting back to the flicker of the television screen that cast strange light-shadows across their faces. Billy reached out and punched Joseph's arm, but the gesture looked far too gentle to hurt. Joey's eyes blazed and he hit one of the two buttons in the center, dropped the keypad, and his lips parted in a familiar utterance: _Hey, hey!_ Billy tossed his own keypad on the floor and raised his eyebrows, turning to face him with a look of playful challenge in his eyes.

Albert reached and flipped the switch straight down. "It's not right. Not while he's got company in the house," he said regretfully. "Leave that one off."

"Sure thing," Carl said with a shrug. "Sure is funny to watch 'em, though."

"The caterer's arriving at one," Albert said. "You can make up a couple of plates to take home. Say hello to your father for me."

Carl's brow furrowed. "I'm on duty tonight, sir."

"Not anymore. I'll take care of it after I get in."

"You got that rendezvous, don't you?"

"Yes, Carl," Albert said. "And I probably won't return until late, and Alessandro doesn't have his parents in town, so he'll be here at the house. Happy Thanksgiving."

"Hey, no complaints about that, sir," Carl said, and turned back to the screens.

* * *

"God, I can't eat another bite," Billy said, setting his fork across his plate. "That was amazing. Did—the lady from this morning make it? She's a better cook than my Mom, that's for sure."

"Does your Mom fancy herself Julia Child or something?" Joseph asked, grinning into his napkin.

"Yeah, it's a disaster," Billy said, reaching for his glass of wine and finished the last remaining sip. He met Albert's eye across the table and nodded in fierce approval. "Fine stuff, that Essedra. Thank you, sir."

Joseph sneezed hard into his napkin. "'Scuse me," he murmured, folding it carefully beside his plate.

"I approve," Albert said, pleasantly surprised. "You've been well versed in wines."

"I've picked things up here and there," Billy said modestly. "And my Dad would never forgive me for saying this, but he has _terrible_ taste in Syrah."

Joey took a quick swallow of his own wine, then wiped his mouth again. "Billy's Dad has terrible taste, period. Horror stories, man."

"My condolences," Albert said wryly, reaching for his own glass, considering his next words to the boys with care. "Joseph, there are some folks in town for the holiday that I haven't seen in ages," he told his son. "I promised I'd make an appearance at some festivities of theirs—I might be gone all night. I hope you two won't be offended." He broadened his scope to include Billy, whose eyes had already fallen from laughter into something cold and still.

"No, Dad," Joseph said, stacking his silverware carefully on his plate, one piece at a time. Punctuation marks. "We'll be just fine."

"Yeah, I completely understand," Billy offered suddenly. "My Mom has friends in from out of town all the time. I know how it goes."

Albert fought the impulse to wonder exactly what conditions lay behind Billy's facetious attitude toward his parents' shortcomings. "Thank you," Albert said, "and I apologize ahead of time. But I'm sure you've had enough of me intruding upon your time as it is."

"Oh, no, sir. Don't worry about it," Billy reassured him.

Joseph ignored Albert's questioning gaze and finished his wine.

"Son?"

"You wouldn't like the CDs I brought home, anyway," he said, finally looking Albert in the eye, and his smile was thinly-concealed poison. "Have a ball."

* * *

The rain returned that evening, bringing with it heavy thunder. If anything had gone wrong, they wouldn't even have had to use a silencer. Albert drove around the back of the house and paged Alessandro to open the garage door farthest to the left. It retracted with a smooth, mechanical hum, and Albert parked the white Cadillac before pulling his hat and gloves off and leaving them on the passenger seat. He picked his briefcase up off the floor and walked out into the misty darkness, paging Alessandro to close the garage door behind him. A camera would have alerted him to Albert's exit.

The surveillance room was entirely dimmed when Albert arrived. Alessandro was awake, but looking rather drowsy, a half empty plate in front of him. Albert shrugged out of his coat an draped it over his arm, kneeling down briefly to open his briefcase. He tore at the clear plastic covering till there was enough of a hole to slip a few bills free without damaging them. He closed the briefcase again, set it up against the wall, and walked over to Alessandro at the switchboard. Albert nudged his shoulder and slipped the hundreds over it soundlessly. Alessandro's hand closed over them casually.

"Go home," Albert said. "Get some rest, young man. You're the best of the best for a reason, now go celebrate it."

"Yes, sir," Alessandro said, tucking the bills into his pocket. He rose with a stretch, then picked up his jacket and his plate. "You're taking watch tonight?"

"Just till dawn, then Carl's coming back," Albert said indifferently. "I work you both too hard."

"For what you pay, you don't work us hard enough," Alessandro answered, heading for the door. "Happy Thanksgiving, Don Trotta."

Albert was alone with more than a dozen flickering screens, some in vivid color, some in clear, almost glossy black and white. Alessandro had been watching the outside like a hawk— _good man_. The danger of an unusual intrusion had been especially high, and Carl might have panicked. He wasn't so sure about that one. Maybe time to pay him off and replace him.

Leaving the handful of night-vision cameras running, Albert's mind turned to the two dark screens. Out of brief curiosity, he flipped the rec room camera's switch all the way to the left, then to the right. The door was closed, the hall quiet. The boys weren't inside, either. The entire room lay in blackness. Albert yawned and turned the camera off again.

He glanced at the digital clock near the center of the switchboard. _9:56 PM_ glowed in sickly neon green. Perhaps the boys had gone to bed early. With idle fingers, Albert flipped another switch for a view of Joseph's hall. It lay in mute darkness, except for the same low trembling of light from the night before. _How many times have I warned him about those damn candles?_ Albert thought. He flipped the switch to the right, realizing he hadn't heard any music when he entered the house.

They were sitting on Joseph's bed again, side by side against the pillows, so close that they leaned against each other. There was a large red album open between them, and Joey's gaze was intent on the pictures, his lips moving now and then to explain what image lay beneath each movement of his finger. Billy was transfixed, hardly blinking, drinking in this tour down the Trotta family's version of memory lane. Albert felt a brief flash of anger. The album belonged in his study, and Joseph knew perfectly well that he was to let Albert know before taking it down. _You can't blame him_ , he reminded himself, taking a deep breath. _You weren't here, and you owe him at least that much in recompense, if not more_. 

Albert relaxed again, and continued to watch as his son turned the page, watching his calm features contort in a moment of recollection. Billy looked up from the pages for the first time and said something, but Joseph stared at the photograph, unresponsive. To Albert's surprise, Billy grabbed the album away and closed it, leaning over just far enough to set it down on the floor at the side of the bed. Joseph leaned after him, tugging his arm forcefully, his features vivid with the exclamation on his lips. Billy sat back up and looked at him, his easygoing eyes shot through with something that startled Albert.

Billy didn't say a word, and he put his arms around Joseph, hugging him fiercely. His lips moved carefully, close enough to brush Joseph's ear. Albert watched his son relax as suddenly as he'd begun to tremble. The boy melted into his friend's embrace, his sides expanding with a deep, calmed sigh. Without warning, Billy turned his head and kissed Joseph's neck gently, murmuring something between presses of his lips. Joseph turned his head against Billy's shoulder, and Albert's breath caught in his throat. His son was returning the gesture, slow and deliberate. He didn't stop till he reached Billy's earlobe, and when it ended up in his mouth, Billy's eyes closed and his lips parted. Albert knew a sigh of pleasure by sight, and wordlessly, numbly, he _watched_.

The boys settled down against the pillows and stayed like that for a long while, curled together and kissing softly, hungrily. On the lips now; they hadn't waited long to move from the ticklish sensation of breath against collarbone and nape. Joseph opened his mouth against his friend's without hesitation, his eyes drifting closed in welcome. In that slow grace, there was something of his mother to him, the way his eyes could communicate a thousand things to anyone that loved him well enough.

Albert's fingers tightened on the switch.

Billy Tepper responded to the silent plea of Joseph's fingers in his hair as if he had done it times beyond counting. He shifted onto his back and pulled Joseph closer, and with that, their pace quickened. Some new urgency had been unleashed by this lying body against body; Joseph's spine went taut and his fingers wound in the pillowcase and in Billy's hair, his kiss suddenly demanding. Billy broke contact just long enough to breathe and gasp something out, a sentence—and Joseph's response was a fierce nod, and probably more, though Albert could only see the back of his head, his hair gleaming in the lamplight. Candlelight on his skin as his friend's hands stroked up from his waist, bunching his shirt as they went. 

Albert's hand shook. He _shouldn't_ have been watching, yet he couldn't stop. _This is what you wanted to be sure of, wasn't it?_

He looked up again and saw that the boys were sitting up now, Billy with Joseph cradled in his lap, Joseph's legs wrapped around his waist. They were kissing again, struggling with shirt buttons. By the end of it they were half laughing and half gasping, and it was Joseph who flung both garments aside, stifling another burst of laughter against Billy's neck when they caught perfectly on the back of his desk chair. Billy was laughing, too, pressing urgent kisses up the side of Joseph's neck in turn. _Nice aim_ , he said, the words shaped as clearly as anything.

From there, things turned desperate with the same alarming quickness as their first change of pace. It was difficult to keep track of their hands, seemed almost a violation to try. Billy's were all up and down Joseph's back, from his neck to the backs of his thighs, and they moved together with an unmistakeable hunger. Joseph's head was turned, his eyes closed tight and his mouth crushed against Billy's cheek, lips moving feverishly.

Unbidden, the echo of his son's voice on the phone came back to him: _Billy_.

Only it wouldn't sound like that if he could hear them, he was certain—not quite, and not by a long shot. Billy was talking, too, saying things impossible to read except for the occasional _ah!_ and the inevitable _Joey!_ Albert shifted in his chair, twisting his grip tight around the switch. He should simply turn it off. Better that way. Boys did things like this, didn't they? Helped each other out of uncomfortably tight pants, touched each other with eager, reverent hands when shorts, too, were at last dispensed with? Kissed and clung to each other breathlessly, as if they'd been apart for weeks? Didn't they—

 _No_ , Albert thought, stunned and cold. _Not my son, not this_...

 _Yes_ , Joseph was gasping—or _crying?_ —against Billy's shoulder, again and again as his friend moved over him. _Yes—Billy—fuck, yes!_ Albert felt the ice in his heart settle quietly in his stomach. No, he hadn't anticipated this. This? He didn't know what this _was_ , at least not until Joseph, _his_ Joseph, squirmed around and yanked Billy's arms around his waist so hard that for a moment, neither of them could breathe. In the panting stillness, Joseph closed his his as slow and graceful as the statue of a saint and drew Billy's white knuckles up to his lips. _Please_ , Albert watched him say, every word etched in a familiar, not-quite-suited whisper. _Billy, please_.

What happened next seemed out of place, but in some corner of his mind, Albert knew it was logical, this painful untangling of limbs and hesitant meeting of eyes. He could see Billy's face clearly, and the boy's expression was tender as he leaned over Joseph and took another kiss, quick and almost rough. _You sure?_

Albert cursed silently. He'd been reading lips like this for far too long.

His son nodded and opened his eyes, slow and dreamlike, then punched Billy in the arm. Hard. _Yes, I'm [something] sure_. Albert's mind stumbled for a moment, almost as badly as Billy tripped climbing off the bed to rummage around in Joseph's still-unpacked bag, then caught up. _Oh_.

Painstakingly slow, so _careful_. Albert watched his son's eyes, visible sidelong against the pillow: it was all that he had any right to watch, no matter where else his gaze might slip, no matter what else might register. This, he was not seeing. He would forget this, would forget it as surely as he would _remember_ Billy's lips gentle in Joseph's hair and against his cheek, Billy's hands shaking as he took whatever it was from that small white tube, Billy's eyes close to shimmering as Joseph fixed him with a look that Albert had seen once upon a time against a pillow no less pale, no less different for all it had been thousands upon thouands of miles distant at an inn sheltered by the sea-cliffs of _Bretagne_. 

Those dark eyes flew shut, then wide open again, and a name escaped the trembling lips.

_Billy!_

Very calmly, Albert flipped the switch straight downward. The screen flickered a vivid starburst, then went dark. He slipped out of the chair and fell on his knees, ducking underneath the switchboard to open the cabinet where all of the tape reels ran silent, eternal circles. He found the deck for camera number eight, hit _EJECT_ , and removed the tape.

Albert Trotta's study smelled faintly of burned plastic for many days after.


	7. In Translation

Joey remembered it like a dream drifting back to him with morning's pale light through the half-closed shutters. Billy's voice in his ear, Billy's mouth against his neck. _Shhh_. _Don't ever forget her, but don't let your memories be angry, either_. _Let go, Joey._ _I've got you._

Joey stretched and felt the warmth of Billy's arm wrapped around his waist. The heat of Billy's body against his back tingled through him with a drowsy shiver. He could feel Billy's breath against his shoulder, slow with the cadence of sleep. He turned his head blindly and kissed Billy's forehead. He shifted closer against Billy's smooth, heated skin, and the ache inside him flared to life. _Yeah, you've got me all right_. _Mmm_. 

Joey pushed the duvet down a little so that he could breathe, blinking against the pillow. Couldn't the fucking sun just go back down? What time was it, anyway? He reached out as far as he could and groped for the alarm clock on the edge of his desk. He knocked against it with the back of his hand, and it hit the floor with a thud. _Fuck_.

He froze as Billy stirred against him with what sounded remarkably like a pout. "Get back here, love. You're letting in the cold."

Joey rolled over and stared. Billy's eyes were still closed, and he turned his face into the pillow, muffling a faint, complaining murmur. _Half asleep_. _I should've known_. Joey smiled in spite of himself, his stomach fluttering. He snuggled against Billy and pulled the duvet up over their heads, finding Billy's mouth in the dark. He kissed Billy's unmoving lips softly at first, just a brush, then opened his mouth. _Do you have any idea what you just said, you crazy fuck?_

At first, Billy didn't respond with any more than a startled shift and a lazy hum against Joey's mouth. Joey pinched his side lightly, slipping his tongue between Billy's scarcely parted lips to see if he'd get the idea. He did, kind of, squirming sleepily into Joey's embrace and tangling their legs, just sort of licking at Joey's lips with a drowsy sigh. Fucking tease. Joey pinched him again, only this time, he went for Billy's ass.

"'Morning, sweetheart," he mumbled, his tongue in Billy's mouth again. _For fuck's sake, kiss me_. 

Joey shoved at Billy with all of his strength, sprawling him out on his back and crawling on top of him. The duvet shifted with them, falling even further over the pillow. _Between me and the fucking comforter, you're going to suffocate_ , Joey thought, trailing his lips from the corner of Billy's mouth up to his earlobe. _I know you're not a morning person, but this is just—_

"Would you make up your mind?" Billy yawned. His arms closed tightly around Joey's waist, making Joey jump. "I'm not in any rush to get out of here, unless we've got another breakfast appointment to keep."

"Nah," Joey murmured, kissing Billy's ear, then the side of his neck. "Who the fuck knows when Dad got in last night. He's probably still in bed, too." _You taste better than Rosemary's cooking anyway_. _Hell, Rosemary's probably with him_.

"Late nights, huh?" Billy licked Joey's cheek. 

"Sometimes. I try not to think about it too hard," Joey confessed, winding his fingers in Billy's hair and turning Billy's head far enough to one side to nuzzle at his nape, tasting skin and sweat-damp curls till Billy rewarded him with a quiet moan. _Never fucking worked till I had you here to think about instead_.

"That's good," Billy said in a tight voice, kneading at Joey's ribs with lively fingers.

"Mm," Joey murmured, biting gently at his neck. "Yeah."

"Hungry?" Billy asked, turning his head back to whisper it against Joey's ear.

"Not for pancakes." Joey kissed the spot and suckled till Billy moaned again. _Mm, now you're catching up_. He abandoned Billy's neck and sat back, tugging the duvet with him, shifting carefully astride Billy's hips. _There, now I can see you_. He touched Billy's hard-on lightly with his fingertips, then stroked it up against his belly with an even lighter brush of his palm.

"Ah, Joey," Billy breathed, taking hold of Joey's free hand against his chest and stroking the back with an echo of Joey's own touch. Then he reached for Joey's erection and gave it a long, careful squeeze.

" _Fuck_ ," Joey gasped. _Tease!_ He grappled for control, tugging his hand away from Billy's and running his fingertips in a slow, deliberate scratch down the center of Billy's chest.

" _Joey!_ "

"Yeah, take that," he whispered fiercely, leaning forward to catch Billy's mouth in a crushing kiss. _You asked for it_.

Billy moaned into his mouth, savagely returning the kiss. His grip on Joey tightened, but Joey was quicker, running both hands carelessly over Billy's chest, up and down, circling all over. Billy let go of him with a defeated cry and wrapped his arms around Joey's shoulders.

"You felt so fucking good last night," Billy whispered against his mouth, all hot breath and a swirl of tongue.

Joey bit his tongue hard, forcing the cry in his throat to escape as a hiss of breath. "So did you," he countered. "I'm _still_ feeling it." Joey covered Billy's mouth with his own again and sucked hard on his tongue. He let his fingers drift lower this time, over the fine, soft trail to Billy's navel. _There_.

Billy broke the kiss again, choking on Joey's name. "Are—ah, _God!_ —you okay?" 

_Jesus, Billy_... Turned on out of his mind, yet he could still sound as concerned over this as he had over Joey's black eye. Joey nibbled at his lower lip and tightened his hold. Billy's cock was hot and damp under his touch, and Billy moaned with every tug, every tickle. 

"Hurts even better than a soccer ball," Joey said, kissing his way down to Billy's throat. "I take back what I said about your aim." A gentle thrust of his hips, another hard tug at the heat trapped in his grip. _Come on, Billy_. _Just let go_.

"Joey, _stop_ ," he pleaded, catching Joey's wrist. "If you don't...I want..."

Joey kissed him again, hard and insistent, his hand still moving. "We've got all day," Joey murmured, then ran his tongue over Billy's. His body followed the rhythm helplessly, driven by a tight, familiar pleasure. "I'll fuck you later, however many times—oh _fuck_ , Billy, I'm with you...just..." 

"Joey... _please_...!" Billy slid his hands down to Joey's waist, clutching desperately.

He took a shuddering breath and quickened his pace, bending to stifle his own cry against Billy's mouth, remembering— _Billy inside him, Billy sobbing and begging against his ear, Billy moving just like this, faster and harder in response to demands that he just couldn't help because it was_ —

" _Billy_ ," he whispered, gritting his teeth as orgasm hit him just as hard as it had the night before. "I've— _I've_ —oh, _God!_ Billy..." _So much for shutting the hell up this time!_ Joey closed his eyes and answered Billy's last cry, holding him tight. "I've got you," he whispered shakily, sliding his right hand up from Billy's chest to stroke his cheek, flexing his left out of its cramped, sticky grasp. " _Shhh_ , Billy. Hey..."

Billy blinked up at him, his breath still coming in scattered gulps. "Yeah... _whew_ , uh...give me a minute here..." Billy breathed out convulsively and let go of Joey's hips, stroking down his thighs. "You might wanna think twice about who you're telling to shush." Billy let go of Joey's legs and tugged at his waist, setting Joey off balance.

"Hey! _Mm_ ," Joey murmured, opening his mouth to Billy's kiss. He let go of Billy's cock and flattened his palm against Billy's stomach, smearing the mess all over. 

"Aw, _Joey_ ," Billy chided halfheartedly, pinching him. "That wasn't very nice."

He punched Billy lightly in the stomach. "Sorry, Mom. Not my fault you didn't teach me to play nice."

"Shut up," Billy said impatiently, pressing a kiss against Joey's cheek, "and lay still for a minute, huh? You're ruining my afterglow."

"You fucking crack me up, you know that?" Joey buried his face in the pillow and laughed, but he relaxed against Billy in spite of the mess, trying to catch his breath.

Billy ran his fingers through Joey's hair, then kissed his forehead. "I try," Billy said modestly.

"Yeah, yeah," Joey mumbled, squirming against him as a reminder. "Wanna shower?"

"Maybe," Billy said. He played with Joey's hair some more, almost as if he were washing it. "I'm getting kinda hungry. What time is it?"

Joey stretched and lifted his head, looking Billy in the eyes. "I have no clue. My clock's on the floor."

Billy glanced over at the window, then back at Joey. "Looks like we slept in pretty good."

"Shower," Joey insisted, struggling to sit up and drag Billy along with him. "C'mon." He tangled his fingers in Billy's curls, coaxing him with a kiss. 

Billy laughed and pulled away, scooting back against the pillow enough to ease himself up and keep Joey braced in his lap. "Okay," he sighed heavily, rolling his eyes. "Only if you'll wash my hair."

Joey made a face. "Only if you'll wash _mine_." _If you think you won this one, Billy, just you wait_.

"It's a fair trade," Billy said seriously, leaning to give Joey one of those kisses that turned him to jelly all over again.

"Um, bathroom," he mumbled, wriggling out of Billy's lap and over to the edge of the bed. "Now."

* * *

They’d gotten away with it once before, and only once. Joey was too jittery to try again on account of someone walking into the bathroom when they’d just barely caught their breaths under the soothing onslaught of hot water and steam. By the time Noble had wandered back to the showers, towel slung over one arm, Billy and Joey were on their way out, half dressed and bantering, unconcerned. If Noble weren’t so fucking blind without his glasses, he might’ve actually noticed that Joey was shaking.

Here, there was nothing to worry about. Billy leaned against the tiled wall and watched Joey rummage in the closet. He pulled out two big, fluffy-looking blue towels and tossed them carelessly on the floor. Billy watched him close the door, then reached out and caught his wrist, pulling him close.

“I think the water’s ready,” he said, skimming his fingers down Joey’s side. He was so fucking ticklish that it wasn’t funny—well, actually, it _was_ , which was more than enough of an excuse to tease him.

Joey pulled away and slid the frosted glass door open. “Do you want me to wash your hair or not, huh?” Joey challenged, trying pretty hard not to smile. He stepped into the shower and tilted his head back, shamelessly enjoying the hot water on his face and hair. Jesus, did he _know_ he was beautiful like that?

Billy stepped into the shower after him, sliding the door shut. “Yes,” he replied absently, tugging one of the washcloths off the miniature rack on the wall. He reached up above Joey’s head and drenched it thoroughly, then slipped an arm around Joey and set about sponging his belly. They really _had_ made a mess.

Joey opened his eyes with a startled laugh, then murmured approvingly and bent his head to kiss Billy’s shoulder. “Soap’s on the caddy.”

“Somebody’s picky,” Billy observed, pressing the washcloth into Joey’s hand for a minute so he could reach over Joey’s shoulder and grab the soap. 

Brand new bar, sage-green color, imprinted with the name of some French-sounding company. Billy bit his tongue on the remark that his Mom kept around all kinds of shit like that, then smelled it. Hm, really not bad. Kind of foresty. He wet the soap and glided it along Joey’s collarbone, then down the middle of his chest. _Do you like that as much as I do?_

“Mm.” Joey kissed Billy’s shoulder again, then pressed the washcloth back at him. “Tell you what, you can forget about my hair as long as you keep that up,” he said.

Billy grinned and took the washcloth from Joey, lathering it up before setting the soap back on the caddy. “Forget?” Billy asked, scrubbing Joey’s belly vigorously. “Maybe when I’ve got Alzheimer’s or something.” _Damn, Joey, what’s that look supposed to mean?_

Joey took a shallow breath, then nuzzled Billy’s cheek as if nothing was wrong. “Yeah right. You’ll still have a mind sharp enough for pulling shit like the announcements sheet switch when you’re sixty.”

"Hey, are you saying I haven't got a chance in hell of graduating?" Billy teased. _I sorta thought you meant_...

"No, I am _not_ saying that," Joey replied emphatically, swiping the washcloth away and turning it on Billy. "What I'm saying is, the day you get fucking Alzheimer's is the day I'm struck by lightning, or some freaky, improbable shit like that."

 _Oh_ , Billy thought, giving Joey's neck a gentle bite. _That's_... "Nice," he murmured and closed his eyes, kissing the marks his teeth had left. Joey sucked his breath in again, then worked his way down to scrub Billy's thighs. He had the most thorough touch. Billy opened his eyes and glanced up at the caddy, then reached for the shampoo. Same fancy French stuff— _hey!_ Joey kissed his stomach, and he almost dropped the bottle.

"Now if I could just get you to remember what's on the fucking study guides," Joey said, looking up at him with a crooked grin and bright amusement in his eyes. For a minute, Billy wasn't sure if he'd survive the sight of Joey on his knees in front of him like that or not.

Billy cleared his throat and briskly emptied some of the shampoo into his hand, missing the caddy by a long shot with his careless toss. Joey jumped when the bottle slammed against the shower wall, pressing close against Billy, his breath mingled with the water droplets splashing against Billy's stomach. 

"Be careful with that, will you?" Joey lost interest in Billy's right calf and let the washcloth drop at his feet. He glanced up briefly, eyes warm with mischief, then tilted his head and licked at Billy's erection.

 _Fuck, Joey!_ Billy steadied himself on Joey's shoulder and quickly smeared the handful of shampoo on top of Joey's head with his other hand. "You're gonna make this difficult, you know that?" he asked shakily.

Joey glanced up at Billy through his lashes and licked at him again, blinking innocently. "That," he murmured, taking the head of Billy's cock between his lips, "is _not_ my problem."

* * *

Joey brushed his damp hair out of his eyes and stared at the ceiling, tracing the odd ripples and folds in the white moulding. When he was a kid, he used to pretend that all of the blob-like spots closed in by thicker veins of paint were lakes, either connected to each other by tiny canal-gaps in the meandering barriers or isolated by complete enclosure. For some really fucked-up reason, after he'd gone through this Loch Ness Monster phase, he used to imagine a tiny Nessie-shape darting its long neck after dust-speck fish against the pale paint. See, she lived in the largest lake, he'd explained to his mother, and sometimes, if she's not careful, that big icthysaur from three lakes over will find his way through the maze of canals and—

"Knock knock," Billy called, pushing through the bedroom door backside-first. He had a plate balanced precariously on each hand, and something tucked under each arm.

Joey sat up and pulled on the clean boxers that he'd left forgotten on the sheets around the time Billy decided to sneak down to the kitchen. "Let me help you with that—"

"No, I got it," Billy reassured him, kicking the door shut and wobbling his way over to Joey's desk. He scooted one plate onto the polished hardwood, then grabbed the other with his free hand and set it down with a sigh of relief. He pulled a can of Coke out from under one arm, a bottle of Stewart's cream soda out from under the other. He set the Coke down beside the plates, then wound the bottle's neck up in his t-shirt and twisted the cap off. He handed the cream soda to Joey and flopped down in the swivel-chair, exhausted. "Brunch is served," he panted.

Joey murmured _thanks_ around a swig of the soda. _Man, that's good_. He watched Billy open his Coke, then stood up and walked over to him, glancing at the plates. Sandwiches and a pile of microwaved bacon stacked on one; a whole odd assortment of fruits on the other. Joey clapped Billy's shoulder. "You thought of everything, huh?" _I'm really fucking impressed, since you insist that you suck in the kitchen_.

Billy swiveled around and tugged Joey into his lap, nearly getting cream soda all over them. "Just enough to prevent you from starving," he said casually. Joey could feel the can of Coke against his back, cold until Billy drew it away and took another sip. "It's in my best interest to keep your strength up, don't you think?"

"Asshole," Joey mumbled into his bottle, grinning. He reached over and set it on the desk, then snagged a piece of bacon. "What if I change my mind?" _Hm, that's a little tough_. _But not bad, Billy Tepper_. _Not bad_. 

Billy draped Joey's arm around his neck and scooted him around sideways in his lap. "That wouldn't be very _nice_ ," Billy said politely, "after all the trouble I went through to get this stuff."

Joey offered him the rest of the piece of bacon and frowned. "Did my Dad catch you? Or Rosemary or somebody?"

"Nah, didn't see a soul," Billy said, chewing the bacon gratefully. "But that microwave of yours is a hell of a lot harder to figure out than the fancy-schmancy contraption my Mom's got, and that's saying something."

"How 'bout I take care of the microwave the rest of the time we're here, all right?" Joey reached for some more bacon. _You're so fucking sweet sometimes_.

"Just as long as I can take care of you," Billy responded cheerfully, scooping up one of the sandwiches and getting mustard down the side of his hand.

 _What?_ "Wait a minute," Joey muttered, swallowing quickly. "I thought the deal was that I take care of _you_ today."

Billy licked the mustard up efficiently and then took a bite of the sandwich, shaking his head. "Uh-huh. As many times as I want, if I remember correctly."

"Fucker," Joey sighed fondly, wiping his fingers in Billy's hair. "Give me that sandwich."

* * *

"No way," Joey said, swatting Billy's hand away. "I'm full."

Billy leaned over him and brushed the last piece of bacon over his lips one more time. "Going, going...gone!" _Hm, really is tough_. _Stupid microwave_.

Joey waited till Billy had swallowed, then reached up and tugged on the front of his shirt. "Maybe I'll have one taste, though."

Billy leaned over and kissed Joey on the mouth—plenty of tongue—then drew back far enough to just look at him lying there shirtless against the pale sheets with both arms flung up above his head and draped carelessly over the pillow. _Fuck, if I could draw like you, no part of today would be safe_. Billy caught the inviting look in Joey's eyes and bent over again, kissing him deeply. "There's still the fruit salad," he said lamely, clearing his throat. _Yeah, and there's also the thought of how it might taste if_...

"I'll take a strawberry," Joey said. "How about that?"

 _Perfect_. "Well, if that's all you're having for dessert," Billy replied, clearing his throat as he reached over to the plate at the corner of the desk and fetched Joey's request, "then you're kinda missing out." Billy brushed the strawberry across Joey's lips, leaving a smear of juice. 

Joey licked it away intently, still _looking_ at him. "You think so?"

"Yeah," Billy said, pressing the fruit against Joey's mouth a second time. 

He trapped it between his teeth unexpectedly, then pursed his lips around it. "Hmm?"

Billy's elbow wobbled and he sprawled over Joey, careful not to knock the breath out of him. " _Mmm_ ," Billy answered softly, licking at Joey's lips before biting the strawberry in half. He chewed and swallowed impatiently, bending for a sweet, sticky kiss. Joey opened his mouth with a pleased hum, letting Billy suck on his tongue.

"That's more like— _mmm_ —what I had in mind."

"Maybe I've got enough room left," Joey mumbled, catching Billy's tongue briefly between those clever teeth.

Billy twined his fingers in Joey's hair and lapped at the red smear around his lips. "Good."

They kissed again and again—slow and easy now, the strawberry-taste giving way to Joey-taste mingled with quiet murmurs, with thrill of Joey's fingers slipping up and under Billy's t-shirt to tease with light tickles and scratches. 

Billy whimpered in spite of himself, shifting his weight so that he settled between Joey's legs. He hadn't bothered with boxers before sneaking down to the kitchen; he'd just thrown on a clean pair of jeans, and Joey had watched him with eyes still hazy from the shower. Just like those days at school, going commando to get Joey tied up in knots. Billy kissed him harder, rubbing against him through his boxers. Joey gasped and slid his hands up the backs of Billy's thighs, holding him there.

"Were you gonna tell me you had this fucked-up fabric kink, or did you want to keep me guessing?" Billy panted, grinding against him a little harder. _Fuck, that feels good_. _Can't say I mind the guessing_.

"Fuck you," Joey managed between hitching breaths, working a hand in between them, forcing Billy to back off enough so that he could reach Billy's fly. "Keeps things interesting, doesn't it?"

Billy moaned as Joey's fingers slipped inside his jeans. _Joey, you couldn't bore me if you tried._

Joey reached up and touched his cheek with his free hand, his eyes dark and serious. "What d'you want?" he asked. His voice and his fingers were so fucking _gentle_...

"What I've wanted all day," Billy managed, breathing unsteadily. "Unless you're set on this—ah God, _more_ —"

Joey let go of him, smirking. "Unless _who's_ set on it?"

"Oh, be quiet," Billy said, gladly letting his words be muffled by Joey tugging his shirt up and over his back. He finished the job, pulling it over his head and tossing it over on the chair.

"Looks like I've got a new clothes rack," Joey said, tugging on the loose waistband of Billy's jeans.

"In a _minute_ ," Billy promised, rolling away to squirm out of them. "Boy, you're pushy today."

"And you waited till now to fucking complain?" Joey asked with a laugh, throwing the extra pillow at Billy's back.

Billy let his jeans puddle on the floor and twisted around hastily, sprawling over Joey again, finding with a delighted shiver that he'd managed to get rid of his boxers, too. "For your information," Billy whispered, nuzzling Joey's neck, "I happen to _like_ it."

"I thought you liked it when I was a brat, or whatever the fuck that meant." Joey's voice broke on the last word.

"Talk too much," Billy mumbled, stifling a grin against Joey's cheek. "So where's the lube?"

"Wherever you dropped it last night, asshole."

Carpet, right between the bed and the desk. Billy reached down and caught it awkwardly between index and middle finger, flipping it up on the pillow beside Joey's head. "All yours." _Hell, so am I_.

Billy nudged Joey out of the center of the bed and sprawled accommodatingly. Joey didn't waste any time, leaning to steal kisses between each deft, slickened stroke of his fingers. Billy closed his eyes and surrendered to those lips, that _touch_ , begging helplessly until Joey's trembling breath ghosted over his ear and he nudged his cock up against Billy and whispered his name...

"Fuck, _yeah_ ," Billy groaned, prying his eyes open enough to watch Joey's snap closed as his fingers found Joey's erection, guiding him. " _Now_."

Such easy going, in comparison to a month ago. Joey pushed into him with one smooth, tense stroke, his breath shattering against Billy's mouth in a few hushed whimpers. And then moans as he started to move, fingers clenched so tight on Billy's arms that he almost hissed with the sensation. He forced his eyes wide open, gasping Joey's name with each breathless thrust, holding Joey's hips to a steady pace. He would watch this, remember this. He'd never heard such a beautiful thing in his life, never mind the _sight_ , because Joey could undo him with no more than a blink or a careless turn of his head, but this—but _this_ —

"Billy. _Billy_. Oh _fuck_ , Billy, _please_ —"

"Harder, Joey," Billy groaned, pushing at him. " _Fuck_ , that's good— _harder!_ "

Joey's response was fierce, fingers clenching again as his hips jerked unevenly. "Billy... _I can't_..."

Billy gritted his teeth and held on, sliding one hand up Joey's damp back to fist at the nape of his neck. "Oh, that's it," he gasped, blinking, catching the look on Joey's face just in time. Catching Joey tight in his arms, his body taut and trembling. 

They were coming, both of them, and Billy couldn't breathe, except to sob Joey's name.

* * *

Joey yawned and stretched, curling closer against Billy. He felt sticky all over, too melted to move, even after a couple of hours' sleep. As nearly as he could judge by the cool, pale sunlight trickling through the blinds, it was probably somewhere around five o'clock. Joey pressed his lips against Billy's shoulder, savoring the warmth of his skin and stealing a brief taste. _No matter how many times we do this_... Joey closed his eyes and pressed his face into the crook of Billy's neck, breathing deeply. _Could stay here with you forever_. 

Joey might have drifted off to sleep again if it weren't for the unceremonious interruption of his stomach. _Fuck_. As usual, Billy was right: he hadn't eaten enough. _Either that or sex takes a lot out of you, or some combination of the two_. Joey tried to ignore the hollow growl, tugging Billy's arm tighter around his waist. Maybe it would stop; maybe it would take nourishment from this warmth, this comfort, and let him sleep again. In the end, it proved useless, no matter how satisfying it was to drowse in Billy's embrace. Joey was starving.

He extracted himself carefully from the tangle of Billy's limbs, sitting there for a moment on the sheets to watch him sleep. Hair and lashes golden, catching the light as it played across his face. Lips curved up in a faint, sated smile. For all Joey knew, maybe he was awake, enjoying this private joke as much as any prank. Joey bent and brushed a kiss against his forehead, then hunted around for the hand towel that they'd used to clean up with the night before. He wasn't slipping into his clothes like that, no way. He moved about the room quietly, determined not to rouse Billy, whether he was asleep or not. It was his turn to rest without a care while Joey saw to necessary provisions.

Joey finally settled on his boxers and a clean t-shirt, then crept cautiously into the hall. There was no sound through all of the upstairs, not even the scratch of a pen or the rustle of papers from within his father's study. He padded down the stairs, casting a wary glance over the railing and down into the front hall. No sign of Alessandro or Carl, either. From his vantage point, the kitchen doorway loomed dark and quiet at the end of the hall. When Joey reached it, he peered inside: no sign of Rosemary, not even a trace of her daily cleaning. Then it occurred to him that maybe his father had taken her somewhere for dinner, somewhere private and on friendly territory. They had done it once before, to the best of Joey's knowledge. Joey flipped the lightswitch and walked over to the fridge, his heart brimming with pride. This day belonged entirely to him and Billy, and no one had tried to take it away.

He nosed around in the freezer, deciding that dinner called for something a little more special than just sandwiches. He found a stir-fry kit and a container full of some of Rosemary's pre-made lasagna, then deliberated between the two. He was in the mood for stir-fry, but Billy deserved something better than store-bought, and Rosemary's lasagna was _definitely_ a step up. And if no one was home to hear, he could certainly take a look around the wine cellar while the lasagna baked.

Red wine, something exquisite. Something so fucking expensive that his father would probably miss it if he took it, except Joey didn't give a care. Billy deserved it, and this time, it wasn't his school allowance on the line. Joey shivered in the dim, musty chill of the cellar, hugging himself for warmth. Reds were in the last rack, unless Rosemary had done some serious rearranging. She hadn't, thankfully, and Joey knelt down at the far end of the rack, running his fingers over a few of the cool bottles. Terre di Trinci? Cheap. His father gave that stuff out to relatives that he didn't particularly like, and that was one point on which he found he could frequently relate. Except his uncle and two cousins were all right, even if he didn't get to see them that often. Joey paused, pulling one slender bottle out for inspection: Foresco's Lago di Corbara. _Mmm, nice_. He was about to turn away with it, but the next bottle caught his eye. Joey replaced the Foresco and took the neighboring bottle by its neck. Moscato, Passito Villa Monticelli. _Hmmm_. He could live with that, definitely. And his father would be out a full thirty bucks more than on the Foresco. _Yes, please_.

Joey checked the lasagna on his way upstairs, grabbing two crystal glasses while he was in the kitchen. He pushed through the half-open door of his room to find the bed empty. Billy was sitting on the floor on the far side of the room, peering at the stacks of CDs on the bottom shelf of his stereo cabinet. Joey cleared the messy plates from brunch to one side, then set the bottle and glasses down on his desk. Billy turned around, alarmed by the noise.

"I was gonna go looking for you," he said, "but then I smelled something cooking downstairs, and I thought I'd look like a fucking idiot if—wait, _you're_ the one cooking?" He blinked at the wine bottle and the glasses.

Joey stepped away from the desk, climbed across the bed, and slipped down onto the floor, crawling the last few feet over to Billy. "Yes and no," he replied, reaching across Billy to tug open one of the glass doors and grab a handful of CDs. "Rosemary keeps a bunch of really good stuff made up in the freezer. All I had to do was pop it in the oven."

"Lasagna? I could have sworn I smelled lasagna."

"Yeah, you did," Joey said, sorting through the discs in his hand. _Simon Boccanegra_ , _Bluebeard's Castle_ , _Norma_. Fuck, he hadn't listened to some of these operas in ages.

Billy grabbed the discs away playfully, leaning to brush a kiss against Joey's mouth. "Is it almost done? I'm hungry."

"So am I," Joey said impatiently, grabbing the CDs back. "It'll be another fifteen minutes or so."

"Those any good?" Billy asked, tapping _Norma_ 's jewel case. "Is Maria on any of 'em?"

" _Carmen_ , yeah, but it's probably way at the back somewhere. But this," he Joey said, waving _Norma_ in Billy's face, "is Bellini at his finest, man."

"I'll take your word for it."

"I'll prove it," Joey said, removing the disc from its case. He hit a couple of buttons, then popped it into the tray as soon as the CD player opened accordingly. "It'll make nice dinner music."

Billy looked at him like he was crazy, or maybe worse. "Joey," he pointed out, "we're fucking half _naked_ and you're breaking out the wine and opera."

Joey closed the empty case and stuck it back on the shelf with the other discs. "Why not? Most operas are pretty scandalous anyway," he pointed out, grinning as he hit play. "Hell, in this one? The soprano and the mezzo have something going, I'm telling you. I mean, yeah, there's this centurion that they've both fallen in love with, and Norma even has two kids by him, but you start to realize that Adalgisa—"

Billy was pretty close to laughing his head off. _Fucker!_

"What, you don't believe me? Wagner gets into fucking _incest_. This is the small stuff."

Billy had quieted down and tilted his head to listen to the prologue. "Small stuff, huh?"

Joey made a frustrated gesture. "Something like that. Why don't you just listen? I don't think you'll mind this one so much."

"Not yet, anyway," Billy said, standing up to stretch. "They haven't started singing yet. Nice violins." He reached down and offered Joey a hand, pulling him up.

"I always liked this prologue," Joey said, as if Billy knew what the fuck he was talking about. He ran his fingers absently down Billy's sides, then snapped the waistband of his boxers for the hell of it. "You can fall asleep to this show, if you're tired enough. Or let it keep you up for hours."

"Whereas I'd just fall asleep," Billy pointed out, ruffling Joey's hair. "You understand more Italian than I do."

 _You? Understand Italian?_ Joey tilted his head and asked, "Is there something I don't know?"

Billy shrugged. "That aria of Maria's that you love so much, right? I get the basic idea. She's all pissed off and schizo because she just killed somebody. I had a few years of Latin. Fucking torture, man."

Joey blinked at him. "Before Regis?"

"Yeah, when else?" Billy said with a shrug. "Not like I tried very hard to become fluent in a dead language or anything, but after so much drilling it into your head, even _trying_ to remember and maybe pass a few quizzes..." Billy shrugged again. "Italian's based on Latin, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Joey murmured, nodding. _I think I'm gonna faint_. "So're French and Spanish. Portugese, too."

"What, are you gonna tell me you speak fucking Portugese?" Billy jibed. 

"Nah," Joey said, punching his arm. "Just Italian and enough French to kick Donoghue's ass in the foreign language competition."

"That's in March, isn't it?"

Joey wound his arms around Billy, leaning into him with a smirk "You? Pay attention to the fucking bulletin board?"

"Didn't I ask you to give me _some_ credit?" Billy asked in a soft voice, smiling at him kind of wistfully.

"I do," Joey insisted, letting go of him with a light shove. "Now I'm just likely to give you more. Latin. Billy Tepper took fucking _Latin_. I could do some serious damage to your reputation with this knowledge, you know that?"

"Yeah, that's fucking hilarious, all things considered," Billy countered, catching him around the waist and dragging him over to the bed before he could protest. "I've heard you say shit that would make you blush, if I repeated it back to you."

Joey reached up over his head and grabbed the remaining pillow, hurling it at Billy's face. "Fuck you." _Man, you're never gonna hear that out of me as long as we're in the dorm, so I hope you're fucking grateful_.

"You do that so well," Billy said with a soft cluck of his tongue. He bent to kiss Joey, almost in time with a dramatic swell of strings from the stereo.

Joey flushed warm and leaned into it, then froze. "Shit, the lasagna!"

Between the two of them, they managed to pull the casserole dish out of the oven without pot-holders. Joey picked the tinfoil away, then licked his thumb over the brief sting from the hot tinfoil. The lasagna looked like it was pretty much done, the cheese on top all bubbly with some golden-brown spots at the edges. Joey asked Billy to grab him a knife out of the drawer, then cut four large pieces. 

"You think I'm gonna eat that much?" Billy asked, peering over his shoulder.

"No, but _I'm_ having at least two," Joey informed him, lifting two pieces onto Billy's plate and two onto his own. "I miss this stuff, man."

"You know how to make it yourself?" 

"I guess if I had to," Joey said with a shrug. "Wouldn't be as good as my Mom's, though."

"She was a good cook, huh?" Billy asked, snatching Joey's hand to lick a bit of sauce away.

Joey closed his eyes. "Yeah," he said. "Especially the scampi recipe she'd pull out at New Year's." Billy's tongue was hot and wet on his fingertips. Felt wonderful.

"New Year's," Billy said thoughtfully, giving Joey's index finger one last lick. "We'll have to work something out."

Joey grinned and picked up his plate. "Good idea. Ball's in _your_ court this time, though. My Dad's idea of fun at New Year's is to have a bunch of relatives over, and let me tell you something, some of the more shameless ones—they don't care about me for me, if you get my drift."

Billy picked his own plate up and followed Joey out of the kitchen. "That's really terrible."

"Yeah, well, I think they've figured out by now that the way to my old man's heart is _not_ through his son," Joey said indifferently. "Though there are always a few that don't know when to quit, or just don't know any better."

"What kind of stuff do they do, exactly?" Billy passed him on the stairs and reached the top first, then held the bedroom door for him. He sounded more protective than Joey had ever heard him.

"Nothing serious—it's just really annoying," Joey explained, setting his plate down on the desk and rummaging in the drawer for his corkscrew. He picked up the wine bottle and jabbed it into the cork, twisting it in deep. "They buy me all this shit I'll never use, give me all this praise I don't really deserve. Except for that fucking pink reading lamp, I don't think I've kept a single thing that any of them have handed me in ages. Goodwill needs it worse than I do, you know?"

"Yeah," Billy said thoughtfully, reaching around Joey for the glasses, holding them out helpfully as he popped the cork free. "Though I'm sure the praise is due, if anything."

Joey looked up at him briefly, then concentrated on filling the glasses. "Nah, really. Most of it's total bullshit."

Billy handed Joey one of the glasses, then took the bottle from him and set it aside. He held his glass up and then reached out to brush Joey's cheek thoughtfully, almost hesitantly. His fingers burned warm against Joey's skin. "Do any of them say how much you look like your Mom?" he asked.

Joey's throat tightened. "A lot of them do, yeah."

"Then I think that's true," Billy said carefully, "and that it's a really big compliment. And you can't tell me you don't deserve what they say about your artwork and your grades—"

"Billy," he said hastily, clinking their glasses together, "food's getting cold." _And my eyes are stinging, thankyouverymuch_.

Billy nodded and clinked his glass against Joey's. " _Salut_."

Joey almost choked on his second sip. _You remembered_.

"Okay?" Billy asked, picking up his plate. "C'mon, let's eat."

"Yeah," Joey said, grabbing his own and following Billy over to the bed.

"Careful," Billy said, settling down on the mattress and watching the motion in his glass like a hawk. "Wouldn't wanna spill this stuff. I bet it stains worse than...um, we do," he said ruefully, glancing at a few spots on the sheets.

"Doesn't matter much," Joey said with a shrug, sitting down beside Billy, balancing his plate in his lap as he took another sip of wine. "I'll just take these down to the laundry room in the morning. You're gonna help me change the sheets, though," Joey warned.

Billy grimaced into his glass. "Aw, Mom, do I have to?"

"You bet," Joey said. He grinned and took a bite of his lasagna. "Man, I've missed this. Regis doesn't know shit about pasta."

"Yeah, but they know plenty about _shit_ ," Billy remarked, taking his first bite. "You know—hey, that's _really_ good!"

Joey smiled around another forkful. "There's another one down there in the freezer. We can have it again before it's time to go back."

Billy grabbed a pillow and situated it against the wall, then scooted back, leaning against it. "Let's not talk about that. I don't even wanna _think_ about school right now." Billy gave him an inviting look.

"Me neither," Joey agreed, manouvering his way over to sit next to Billy, practically curled up against his side. "I have to admit, we're pretty lucky in the breaks department at Regis."

"Better than my last place," Billy said vehemently. He'd managed to finish off one piece of lasagna already.

Joey took a few more bites in contemplative silence. _His last place_. Sometimes he couldn't help but wonder if Billy would finally get himself kicked out of Regis, too, no matter how notoriously tolerant Parker was. Billy just kept pushing the envelope. Joey swallowed, then reached over Billy to set his plate on the edge of the desk. Suddenly, he wasn't so hungry anymore. He settled back with his wine in one hand and his chin on Billy's shoulder.

"You feeling okay?" Billy asked, stopping in the middle of cutting his second piece to set his plate beside Joey's. He took another swallow of wine and set his glass aside for a moment, curling an arm around Joey and settling them closer together. "Stomach acting up today?"

"Not as hungry as I thought," Joey said with a shrug. _It's so fucking stupid._

Billy reached for his glass again, then kissed Joey's forehead. "Don't give me that. Something I said in the last thirty seconds—"

"If you ever get yourself kicked out of Regis, I'll fucking kick your ass," Joey said, releasing his breath.

Billy sputtered into his wine, tilting the cup down with a hasty, back-handed swipe at his chin. "What makes you think...oh, Joey," he said, laughing. "I'm not gonna get pegged, not if Parker hasn't done it by now."

"You never know," Joey muttered. "My Dad seems to think every kid keeps a knife in his closet, but I could get tossed just as easy without lifting a fucking finger." Joey drained his glass and stared at the bottom. _You're a fucking moron, Joseph Trotta_.

Billy finished the drink he was taking off in one long gulp, then took Joey's glass away from him and set them one by one on the desk. "Listen," Billy said softly, pulling Joey close against him, so close that their foreheads touched. "If you get kicked out, _I'll_ get myself kicked out, too. It's that simple."

"Yeah, and what, beg your parents to send you wherever the fuck Dad sends me next?" _Why the fuck can't I just drop it?_

Billy frowned. "You've been to another place?"

"No, just public high school, but what's the fucking difference if I get kicked out?" Joey took a deep breath, trying to kill his anger. He hadn't meant for this to happen, he _hadn't_.

Billy made a frustrated sound, then kissed him long and hard. Joey closed his eyes and let Billy feel it, let him know the only way he knew how. _If you ever left me_... _oh, God_. _I don't fucking know what I'd do, Billy_. _I don't_. _You and the guys_ — _you're the only ones that don't give a fuck about who I am_. _Do you understand?_ _When Mom said she cared, I knew I could believe her_. _Then I lost her, lost her because of Dad_. _When Dad says he cares_ — _I believe him, but all I can think about is what happened_. _Billy_... _when you_...

Joey drew back abruptly, almost gasping. Billy's hands were on his face, stroking him, soothing him. Worried eyes and worried fingers, his body trembling. Joey closed his eyes and kissed Billy softly. 

"Sorry, man," he whispered. "I get carried away sometimes." Norma was singing in the background, calm and regal. Well, _shit_ , it wasn't even the music that got him worked up this time, was it?

"I know. That's why I think," Billy said calmly, trying his best to smile, "that we need some more wine."

"I'll second that," Joey murmured, taking another deep breath before climbing over Billy and hopping off the bed. _Right_. _Just mellow out and chill_. 

He picked the glasses up and set them down in front of himself, then reached for the bottle. Billy was watching from the bed, and Joey didn't have to look up from pouring the wine to know that he was sporting a half-frown that would vanish as soon as Joey looked up again. He picked the glasses up and went back over to the bed. Billy reached for him, and Joey made a protesting noise till he realized what Billy was doing. He let himself be settled in Billy's lap, straddling comfortably. 

Billy took his glass and gave Joey a meaningful glance. "We haven't really had a proper toast."

"I guess not," Joey said, swilling his wine around thoughtfully. "So, let's see. Here's to not getting kicked out of Regis," he suggested wryly, raising his glass in Billy's face. _And to holding onto you for as long as I fucking can_.

"Hear, hear," Billy said, nudging Joey's glass out of his face with a _clink_ of his own. "And to Ballini, or whatsisface. This opera actually doesn't suck as much as I thought it would."

Joey almost spit his mouthful of wine, grinning ear to ear. "Ha! I knew there had to be something—"

"Don't get your hopes up," Billy said with a wink, taking a gulp himself. "I don't think I'm cut out for that stuff. I know you like Maria and all, but I really can't stand that wobbly thing she has going."

"She's not the best soprano out there," Joey agreed, "but she's excellent in most of the roles that she's done. Remember how I was talking about _Carmen_? She totally _sucks_ in some parts. So hooty you'd think it was a barn owl or something."

Billy took another drink and looked at him steadily. "D'you have a favorite besides her?"

"You wouldn't recognize the name," Joey said with a shrug. "Yeah, I do."

Billy set his glass on the desk, then slid his hand under Joey's shirt, stroking his stomach with just enough pressure not to tickle. "Then tell me so I _will_ recognize it."

"Elly Ameling," he said, closing his eyes with a shiver. "Emma Kirkby." Joey felt a little dizzy as Billy stroked up to his chest. _Forgot how strong this stuff is_. 

"Who's singing right now?" Billy asked, taking Joey's glass out of his hand.

Joey let his eyes drift open, blinking hazily. "Joan Sutherland."

"No Italians?" Billy asked. He tugged on Joey's shirt, eyes begging.

"No, I..." Joey struggled out of his shirt, then tossed it on the floor. "I never really thought about that."

Billy smirked and kissed him, reaching for the wine glasses again. "Your thoughts on Pavarotti, Mr. Trotta?" he asked in the pseudo-British accent usually reserved for mocking the headmaster.

"He's a pompous ass," Joey said, grinning as Billy pressed his glass back into his hand. "Kind of like Maria—really good in some stuff, but the general image is totally overblown."

Billy laughed into his wine, blowing bubbles. "Jesus, you're something else."

Joey chugged what was left in his glass and jabbed Billy in the ribs. "Oh, _speaking_ of which, would you like me to remind you of the last time you said that? _Then_ we'll see who's blushing."

"For your information, I _remember_ ," Billy sputtered, swiping at the wine on his chin again. "I don't think there's a single fucking thing I've said in bed with you that I wasn't _aware_ of, thank you very much."

Joey felt his cheeks heat. _Just my luck, since you remember every fucking word I've said, too_. "More wine?"

"Why not," Billy said, his kiss falling a little off-center against Joey's mouth. "Makes the music sound even better."

"Asshole," Joey murmured, returning the kiss. "Sit still, don't hurt yourself." He struggled off the bed one last time, leaving the glasses with Billy. "Hold them still," he instructed, returning with the bottle. "Just like— _Billy_ , stop that! Unless you want three-fucking-hundred dollar wine on your good boxers."

Billy's eyes widened as Joey set the almost-empty bottle on the edge of the desk. "Are you shitting me?"

"No," Joey laughed, settling down in Billy's lap and taking back his glass. "I'm not."

Billy closed his eyes and drained half of the glass before Joey could stop him. "Shoulda guessed. S'even better than the red stuff you got in Cambridge."

"Don't tell me you forget the name already, what when you can remember fucking Essedra!" Joey took a drink, stifling the impulse to laugh. _I'm shocked you even managed to do that_. _Really fucking proud_.

Billy took one look at him, then stopped conducting the music with his glass. He tugged Joey close, nuzzling his lips. "What the fuck are you grinning about?"

Joey felt a giddy rush. "You," he said pointedly, nipping at Billy's lower lip. _You won't remember this in the morning, will you? I don't think you remember a damn thing from the last time I got you drunk_.

Billy blinked at him, then gave him the same private smile that he used when all the guys were around. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Joey said, taking a last sip of his wine. He took Billy's glass out of his cooperative hand, then set them both firmly aside. He leaned forward and slid his arms around Billy's neck, feeling dizzy with more than just the wine. "I think you've had enough," he whispered against Billy's mouth, sliding his tongue gently across his lips.

"Is that so, my _dear_ Mr. Trotta?" Billy asked, his fakey accent considerably slurred this time.

Feeling reckless, Joey kissed him outright. "Hey, hey, _hey_ ," he chided. "You think that's proper love-talk?"

Billy pouted at him. "Well, if it isn't, then would you be so kind as to _enlighten_ me?"

Joey narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, okay. Repeat after me: _Signor Trotta, caro mio_."

"Easy," Billy said. "Signor Trotta, caro, _caro_ mio."

Joey saw the spark in his eyes and caught his breath. "That's a little better."

"Only a little?" Billy sounded crushed.

Joey poked him in the ribs. "Bet you can't say—" he thought for a minute "— _Siete molto bei_." _You're very handsome_. _Yeah right_.

"Siete molto bei, caro," Billy murmured, nuzzling Joey's cheek.

Joey bit his lip. "Your pronunciation's not bad. What about... _amo tenerlo_."

Billy's eyes softened. "Amo tenerlo— _quoque_."

"I, uh—excuse me?"

"Too," Billy said, wrapping his arms around Joey a little tighter. " _Amo te tenere quoque_."

" _Conosco_ ," Joey said quietly, his mouth suddenly dry. "And— _ti amo_." _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ _Do you honestly expect_ —

Billy hadn't blinked, hadn't moved a muscle, but Joey felt comprehension blaze through him like a flame. "Ti amo," Billy said, kissing Joey's cheek, then his ear. He took another breath, almost as if he wasn't finished.

Joey went completely still, his heart pounding. 

" _Aeternitatis_ , Joey," Billy whispered, gathering Joey in close enough to bend his head and kiss the very first place that his lips had ever touched.

Something inside him snapped. Complete understanding, _achingly_ clear. 

"I love you," Joey said, smothering the words—no, not the words, it was a fucking _sob_ —against Billy's shoulder. "I'll love you _forever_."

"You too, Joey," Billy said, his voice soft and fierce. " _You too_."


	8. Sketches

The notebook is battered, the corners of its pale blue cover bent and frayed. The coloration itself shows signs of scuffing and fading, as if it's been dropped one too many times, then left for too long on the floor in bright afternoon sun. A ghostly trace of mud across the bar code tells of how it was dropped in a puddle on the way home from soccer practice. Scores of random doodles and stylized scribbling render the company's name and product description meaningless: this book has been patented by its owner. _Screaming Pink Brigade RULES!_ , a pen-scrawl reads at a diagonal in the lower left-hand corner close to the wire binding, and a careless, answering hand has responded with _WTF?_ A careful rebuttal is carved beneath the wise-crack, white cardstock pulp instead of black pen: _Read the fucking wall_. The other scattered musings are less coherent, meandering pencil, pen, and marker tracks that collide and overlap, interrupt and claim. Scarcely an inch of space is left for marking in any direction, and notebook's interior promises to reveal itself in similar condition.

A neatly folded piece of white paper slides out from beneath the cover. The printing identifies it as a class syllabus: _Summerterm, ENG 320—Literature & Films of Other Cultures, Professor Daniel Birch_. Printed carelessly in the upper right-hand corner, _Joey Trotta_ is underlined several times—hollow dots, even dashes, an indifferent zigzag. The date underneath is barely legible: _6/4/90_. The page bears no other distinguishing marks, except for the occasional stars and strikeouts beside and through listed assignments.

The first dozen pages are devoted entirely to notes, which appear to be relevant to the class outlined in the syllabus. Every so often, the carefully structured paragraphs break to allow for a hasty miniature sketch—a woman staring wide-eyed at an empty bottle of wine on the edge of a table ( _Find more Arg. short stories_ , it says underneath); a carved wooden box sitting open, a string of nondescript beads nestled inside ( _Slow-ass movie, bland subtitles, NO MORE HINDI PLEASE_ ).

A quarter of the way through the notebook, another loose piece of paper slips out. Garish yellow with oversize rule, the kind that teachers hand out as scratch paper during a math exam. A series of basic statistics formulas sprawl across the upper half, but the lower half is smattered with a skewed series of one-liners. They string along to form a clipped conversation: _Can I copy that later??—Yeah.—Thanks I forgot we had this lecture—No shit, now pay attention?—I'm so fucking bored—So am I.—So why aren't you paying attention—Bite me.—No way—Shut up and take notes!—I can't, I forgot my notebook that's why I fucking ASKED—If we keep this up, you'll have no fucking notes to copy.—BLOW ME_. Pinpoint of graphite where the pencil must have broken off, a smudge of accompanying dust. The back of the paper is blank.

On the notebook page immediately to the right of where the statistics notes were tucked, a large and fully detailed drawing. An ancient bell dominates the lower right foreground, and just behind it, a sort of window in the tower's brick wall is visible. The ledge reaches waist-high on the figure bent casually and leaning on it with arms folded. The absence of color and manner of shading suggest fair hair, and the contours of the young man's body through his tank top and cut-off jeans are vividly accurate. One tennis-shoed foot touches the ground toe-first, knee bent against the dark roughness of the brick. The shoe's traction is as sharply rendered as a few other small details, including a bead of sweat at the nape of the young man's neck where his unruly hair is even worse for the apparent humidity. _Grand Tour_ , it says in the lower right-hand corner. No date is given.

The next page sports a series of smaller drawings, none of them anchored by any particular background. A soccer ball and a pair of shoes with disheveled laces lie as if hastily tossed in the lower left-hand corner, and the items that follow in an upward progression have been sketched with equal haste: a crumpled t-shirt, a stack of textbooks, an empty Coke can, and half a pack of bubblegum. Each object casts a distinguishing shadow, except for the shirt, under which is scribbled, _Gross_. An intruding hand recognizable from both the book's cover and the page of statistics notes has written up the outer edge, _You gonna draw my shit till I pick it up?_ The response is flippant: _You gonna keep sneaking peeks at my notebook?_

After a handful of pages spent on plot-graphs, another full-page sketch appears. This one is as precise as the view from inside the bell tower, although the subject is strikingly different. An ornate capital _J_ dominates the page, illuminated in medieval style. The knotwork suggests Celtic influence, and other similarly styled elements emerge upon closer inspection: birds, more than half a dozen of them, most with wings outstretched in flight. One has landed atop the _J_ , a peacock regally perched with knotwork feathers trailing down one side of the letter till they interweave with the rest of the embellishment. In the upper left-hand corner, a small sketch has been erased, but not thoroughly enough to conceal what it was. It retains the shape of a calligraphic _B_ surrounded by looser, simpler knotwork. There is no title, but the lower right-hand corner is dated _6-25-90_. The very next page is not dated, but the erased sketch appears full-size, expanded and elaborated. Instead of birds, the accompanying creatures are a variety of fish and aquatic plants. What looks like a snake emerging from the knotwork at the lower left-hand corner of the _B_ turns out to be the long neck of a lizard-like creature with a short tail paddles instead of legs. Between rows of needle-like teeth, it has captured a fish in its mouth.

The portrait on the next page might be considered comical, if not for the austere expression on the subject's face (or perhaps _because_ of it). The man's thick eyebrows are knit fiercely, lending an air of confusion to his otherwise stern, almost angry mien. His dark skin lends curious contrast to his even darker eyes—the pupils stand out furiously against intricately veined whites. He has a mustache, and his grimly set lips are pursed as if he is about to say something. A collar and tie are visible, colliding with the bottom of the page. Scrawled up one side: _Dean Parker, pissed off. This one's for you, Billy._

A few more portraits follow, most of them unlabeled. An unsmiling young man with dark hair and brooding eyes, earring dangling from his left ear—this one looks as if it might be based on a photograph. Another photographic image on the next page, similar enough to be a younger version of the preceding subject. A young man grinning from ear to ear, eyes bright and lively even in stillness, fair curly hair messy, windblown—this one lacks the frozen quality of the previous two. The next few are recognizable as the same individual, but in varying poses: profile, leaning forward over a desk with a pencil pressed to his lips; sitting on the lower tier of a bunk bed, book propped up on one knee; leaning against a radiator, head turned in profile, glancing over his shoulder and out the window. The last one of this series is captioned: _Waiting_.

A soccer field scene, several figures captured in motion, more gesture-drawing than anything else. The ball is suspended between two of the figures, caught mid-spin. One of the figures is poised to kick. The third figure approaches from some distance, but will not make it in time to prevent the kick. In the lower right-hand corner of the picture, a dark sliver runs off the page, its minimal contour shaped like the curve of a knuckle. The picture is dated _8-23-90, First practice_.

The next page shows the bed in the corner of a dorm room, noticeably cluttered at the periphery with books, papers, clothes. A young man with straight, tousled pale hair lies sprawled across the bed, which is unmade. He is dressed in athletic shorts and a short-sleeved jersey, both of which are shaded to suggest a darker color. He appears to be asleep, but upon closer inspection, the right hand—dangling haphazardly over the edge of the mattress—is poised in an impolite gesture. _Phil_ , the upper right-hand corner reads. _Totally wiped_.

A series of abstract and object sketches. One page is covered entirely in brickwork, every inch of white sealed behind graphite. The face of a clock with ornate Victorian numbers, both hands pointing at twelve. An bottle of ink sitting on top of a stack of papers. An old-style marquee with bold lettering: _CATS, STARRING JONATHAN BRADBERRY_. The intruder's handwriting comments, _That's fucking hilarious!_ For once, the response is in agreement, if not welcoming. _Isn't it, though?_

Another series of portraits. The first one is a head-shot not unlike Dean Parker's: an elderly gentleman with scholarly features and thinning white hair, his shoulders, collar, and bowtie visible. He is looking off to one side, lips slightly parted, as if caught mid-speech. _The Old Mouse_ , it says at the bottom in neat, centered lettering, closed off in imitation of a brass plaque. _Awww, for me?_ —scrawled up one side, followed immediately with, _If you want_. The next few sketches echo a previous set: the young man with curly blond hair at his desk, this time asleep on his notebook; on the soccer field, foot outstretched and ball flying forward (closeup, no other players in the picture, extremely detailed); sitting on the bottom bunk, head turned and eyes animated, mouth open to suggest talking. In the lower left-hand corner of the page, a portion of desk or tablespace is visible. A fourth sketch, more hastily done: the same individual, shirtless, toweling his hair dry. Dot of graphite at the bottom of the page, a brief scribble of hesitation. No title, no date.

A window identical to that seen behind the radiator in a previous sketch, view of the upper half. Visible stretch of blanket-covered mattress, bedpost. The shape of legs, feet turned to one side, toward the window. The moon is visible through the topmost corner of the window, round and full. Shading suggests darkness penetrated by a flood of light. _Waiting_ , the caption says.

On the next page, a view across a table. Three new faces, all in a row: another young man with straight blond hair, smiling amiably around a bite of something; beside him, a black youth with glasses making a _crazy_ gesture in reference to the blond kid to his right; then a dark-haired, dark-eyed young man with fine features and a tentative smile, fork gripped loosely in his right hand. _Snuffy, Hank, Ricardo_ , the title reads. _Breakfast, 9-20-90_.

Dean Parker again, sitting with his hands folded atop a closed planner lying in front of him on his desk. Eyes fixed directly on the viewer, as if breaking the invisible barrier between eye and page. Still stern, though more amused than angry. _"What are you doing here?"_ the caption asks. _Keeping me company_ , says the familiar outsider's handwriting. _You wish_ , says the response, but a smiley face follows it immediately. 

Another sketch of the young man with curly blond hair, more detailed than ever before. Standing with his back to a row of locker room doors, eyes fixed directly on the viewer's, just as Dean Parker's were. He wears nothing but a pair of boxers, his shins interrupted by the inclusion of a low bench. Barefoot, standing in a damp patch on the floor. His towel hangs from one hand, almost dragging on the cement. His gaze is candid, almost questioning. _After practice_ , the title says. 

The next page is entirely covered in bricks, except for the fact that a good number appear to have been chipped away, leaving blank whiteness and faint blue lines instead. Something is written in the lower left-hand corner, almost impossible to read against the darkness of the bricks: _Crumbling_.

A page filled with haphazard words in more than two dozen different styles: cursive, calligraphy, block lettering, spirals, then a handful of clever variants on each. Most of the words are foreign—French, Italian, Spanish, a few in Latin, fewer still in English. Scattered throughout are recognizable names: _Snuffy, Hank, Phil, Billy, Ricardo, Joey_. _Billy_ occurs no fewer than three times, each instance in a different style. 

Nearly the entire latter portion of the notebook has been left blank, except for a few scattered pages of notes interspersed with the occasional poem. The words are spare and precise, almost cautious. Most of the pieces are introspective, either that or oddly touching descriptions of mundane surroundings. One page is even covered in musical staff, delicate sixteenth notes and trills gracing it from top to bottom. Half of the remaining six pages are blank, but on the next-to-last, there is one more sketch.

The mop of curly hair against the pillow is familiar, an echo of the hind-view afforded by the bell tower sketch. The perspective is close, almost claustrophobic, but the curve of the young man's bare shoulder and the outflinging of his arm against the sheets are graceful, compelling. This is a view from the bottom bunk, lying down: the underside of the top bunk cuts the window in half sharply, leaving the view filled in majority by the radiator. The same clever dark shading, the same spill of moonlight. Fingers visible against the portion of the sleeping young man's elbow that is skimmed by the covers, nails and first knuckle barely exposed. _Better than Mass_ , the picture is titled, then scratched out. 

_No more waiting_ , it says.

Almost as an afterthought, another loose piece of paper slides free, this time from between the last page and back cover. It's folded over twice, and _Billy_ is written hastily on one side. The note is brief.

 _Something to keep you company on the ride home_. _You had better not put your fucking duffel bag in the trunk_. _Keep warm, okay? I hear Connecticut's gonna get hammered_.

 _Can't wait till the 26th_.

_Love,  
Joey_


	9. Falling

"He'll be here soon, won't he?" Barbara crossed her arms and stared out the picture window at the snow-dusted driveway, sipping her tea impatiently. She turned her head and pursed her lips in disapproval. "Billy, I _asked_ —"

" _Yes_ , Mom," Billy sighed, crossing his legs on the draped coffee table. "Joey said five o'clock." _Dammit, don't you keep any half-decent magazines around here?_ Billy dropped the copy of _Better Homes & Gardens_ that he'd been thumbing through on the floor. _Not even a single fucking National Geographic_. 

Barbara walked over to the sofa and tapped the abandoned magazine's cover with the tip of her sheer-stockinged toe. "Pick that up," she said, "and put your feet down."

Billy gave her an indifferent glance, then looked out the window. _Come on, Joey_. _I'm dying here!_

"If you keep this up when your friend gets here, so help me—"

"Of course not, Mom," Billy said contritely, bracing his heels against the table and shoving it forward as far as he could before letting his feet hit the floor. "That would be impolite."

Barbara bent to straighten the tablecloth and brush up a few droplets of water that had splashed out of the vase of fresh roses. She tucked her frosted hair angrily behind her ears, then picked up the magazine and hit Billy across the shin with it. 

"Find your socks," she said brusquely, tossing _Better Homes & Gardens_ on the coffee table before setting her painted teacup on top of it. "Does your friend like hot cocoa?"

Billy sat up straight and buttoned his cuffs, looking his mother in the eye. "His name's Joey."

"Albert Trotta's son," she said. "I know who he is. His father sent yours a note about that visit over Thanksgiving break. They once had a contract, apparently."

Billy blinked and sat up even straighter. "A note?"

Barbara looked almost disappointed. "Yes, Albert said you were a delightful young man and that they would be honored to have you back," she murmured, suddenly finding her Hummel figurines on the mantelpiece across the room of infinite importance.

Billy relaxed and watched his mother brush her manicured fingers across the backs of their tiny heads, finding it hard not to smirk. "What, did you think I'd burn down the house?" he asked innocently.

Barbara finished blowing puffs of air at their dustless feet, then turned around. "What I'm asking is, why can't you be as well-behaved in your own home as you are when you're visiting?"

"Don't you think that having company over is pretty much the same principle?" Billy challenged, raising his eyebrows. "Joey isn't here _yet_. Until the doorbell rings, I could take my fucking shirt off if I wanted to." _And Joey wouldn't mind one bit_. _I'll bet there wasn't anything in the note about that_.

"Language!" Barbara shouted. "William Tepper, go _find_ your socks and make yourself presentable. It's five till!"

Billy stood up and gave her the most pitying look he could manage. "You'd think we were expecting the president or something," he retorted, but he left the room without any further complaints. _I wish I could spare you, Joey_. _Thank God we're leaving this fucking dollhouse tomorrow_.

Billy listened to the sound of pots and pans rattling, a few cupboards opening and forcefully closing as he made his way back the darkened hall. _She's gonna put on her World's Most Perfect Mom act for you, Joey, just you watch_. Billy pushed open the door to his room and flipped the lightswitch. His socks were right where he'd left them, crumpled against the beige carpet. He sat down on his bed and pulled them on hastily, then ran his fingers through his hair. _You're going to think this place is such an eyesore_ , he thought, glancing across the hall into the darkness of his bathroom. _I swear it's a miracle she didn't do this whole place out in fucking rose and lavender_. Billy stood up and unbuttoned his dress pants quickly, then tucked his shirt in. _Ugh, this thing's scratchy_. _Not even a shade I like_. _Thanks, Santa_. Billy glanced over at the air mattress on the floor, which was all done up in the most hideous flowered sheets that he'd ever seen. _Yeah, Joey, how about that? Since you're only gonna be here one night, she didn't even think it was worth cleaning the guest room up_. _I mean, no real loss, but it just goes to show_ — 

"Billy, are you decent?" Barbara shouted. "There's a limousine in the driveway."

"Yeah!" Billy called, turning the lights off on his way into the hall. _If you embarrass him, I swear_ — 

The door chime sounded before Billy even reached the living room. His heart was practically in his throat. He heard the door open, and then his mother's soft, gracious greeting. Billy dashed past the kitchen and didn't stop till he reached the small set of stairs leading down to the parlor. His mother was closing the front door with a cheerful wave at the Trottas' driver, and Joey stood off to one side curiously studying the marble tile as he tugged his shoes off. He dropped them and looked up sharply as Billy jogged down the stairs.

"Hey," Joey said, offering a tired smile. "Merry Christmas."

"Yeah, you too," Billy said, forcing his tongue to work properly. He took hold of Joey's hand and gave it a tight squeeze. _God, I've missed you_ , he wanted to say, but instead he just smiled back at Joey. _Later_.

"I'll take your coat and your bag, Joey," Barbara volunteered pleasantly, coaxing the small suitcase out of Joey's grip. She gestured for him to remove his coat.

"Thanks," he said, handing it over.

Billy caught himself resisting the urge to stare. Slim-fitting dark slacks, light blue linen collared shirt. He'd never seen Joey that dressed-up before. Billy bit his tongue when Joey's eyes flew back to him. _You're so fucking beautiful I could_ —

"Billy, why don't you take him to the kitchen while I do this?" Barbara asked over her shoulder as she hung Joey's coat in the closet. "The water's heating on the stove."

"Sure thing, Mom," Billy said, watching her close the closet door and head up the staircase.

"Where's she taking that?" Joey asked as soon as she had vanished past the kitchen.

"My room," Billy answered, turning around to face Joey. Impulsively, he took Joey's hand again, lacing their fingers together like he'd wanted to the first time, because _fuck_ he'd missed that. "How was the ride?"

"Boring," Joey said, staring at their hands, lips twisting in a sort of half-smile before looking up, "but not as boring as my relatives."

"I had to put up with that shit till this morning, too," Billy said sympathetically, letting go of Joey's hand. "We should probably, you know, go..." _If you look at me like that for much longer she's not gonna find us in the kitchen_.

"Yeah," Joey said quietly, giving him a look that clearly implied more than he was letting himself say.

Before Billy knew it, his arms were around Joey, and they were kissing reasonably hard, at least hard enough for Joey to stagger back up against the door and breathe in scattered gasps between kisses, _I missed you, I missed you_. Billy caught himself before acting on the impulse to pin Joey, tipping their balance back in his direction, just holding Joey close instead. "Hey, love," he whispered in Joey's ear, then eased them apart. "I missed you, too."

Joey's grin was about enough to stop his breath. "How about that water? Don't want it to boil over."

"Hot chocolate," Billy said with an effort, nodding. "This way."

Just as they reached the kitchen doorway, Barbara came sprinting up the hall and pushed past them with an apologetic murmur. "Please sit down," she said, rummaging in a cupboard. "Make yourself comfortable."

Billy seized the opportunity of his mother's back being turned to pull a chair out from the table, offering it to Joey with a wave of his hand.

Joey glanced back and forth between Billy and his mother. "Thanks," he said, fixing Billy with one of his expressive gazes before taking a seat.

 _You're gonna do me in before she gets the chance to leave_. Billy cleared his throat and sat down beside Joey, but there was no time to translate the question into something verbal and fairly innocent. His mother's arms darted in over his shoulder, settling a pair of dark green mugs between him and Joey. Each one clattered with a spoon, and both were printed in white with Witherright-McCormack Real Estate's familiar logo. _Groan_.

Joey glanced up at her, tapping one of the mugs. "This is your company?"

"Yes," Barbara said, sounding rather pleased as she turned to grab a potholder off the counter. "You recognize it?" she asked, returning a few seconds later with the steaming teapot tight in her grip. "Oh, Billy, how could I have forgotten? The mix is over in the cupboard, would you mind getting it?"

"No problem," Billy muttered, meeting Joey's eyes briefly over his mother's arm as she filled their mugs. He went over to the corner turn-around and bent down, listening as he rummaged through endless boxes and bottles of stuff that his mother couldn't make to save her life.

"Yeah," Joey said. "I'm sure my Dad's looked at property listed with your New York agency."

"Well, then, you're as good as family," Barbara said, briefly patting Joey's shoulder. 

Billy gripped the Godiva canister tightly. God, he _hated_ that syrupy tone of hers. He couldn't even bring himself to call it honey, especially not _that_ kind of fakey schmoozing. He slid back into his seat and banged the cocoa mix down beside their mugs, rippling the steaming water. "Here we are," he announced to no one in particular, though he directed his gaze at Joey. _You don't even have to answer that, really_.

Joey pried the lid off the canister, looking grateful. "I haven't had this stuff in a while."

"Godiva?" Barbara asked, drifting back over to the counter.

"Any kind," Joey said with a shrug, adding a few spoonfuls of the brownish powder to his water. "I've gotten lazy, I guess. Tea's a lot easier."

"Coffee for me," Billy said smugly, dipping into the canister for some cocoa. "But this stuff's not bad."

"I should hope not," his mother remarked, turning off the stove. "I can't have you using up all of my best grounds," she said with a laugh, glancing in Joey's direction as if to make a joke of it.

"Well, Mom, seeing as I'll only _be_ here one more night, I don't think that's very probable." _God, Joey, I'm gonna go nuts_. _D'you have to lick your spoon like that?_ Billy wrapped both hands around his mug and took a sip, closing his eyes. When he glanced up, Joey was still looking at him with mirth in his eyes, tongue darting over the tip of his spoon once more.

"I don't like coffee much," Joey volunteered, finally setting the spoon aside, "so your grounds are safe from me."

"It's my son I can't trust," Barbara sighed, drying her hands on a dish towel. "Now, I won't be here for most of the night, so I wanted to make sure you know what's what. There's plenty in the fridge for supper in case you get hungry later on, and if you need anything, just ask Billy."

Billy tapped his fingers against his mug impatiently. "Mom, what time did you say your party was?"

"Six fifteen," Barbara said brusquely, tossing the towel aside, "and yes, I'm running a bit late, but I wanted to make sure your guest got settled in properly. If you don't find the air mattress comfortable, Joey, kick Billy out of his bed. He can sleep anywhere, even the couch if he has to."

"I'm sure that won't be a problem," Joey reassured her, then eyed Billy as he lingered fatally over a sip. He caught the rim of the mug between his teeth for a split second.

 _You're damn lucky she's getting out of here_ , Billy thought, his gut twisting. The rest of his hot chocolate wasn't going to fix the situation, no and _no_. "We'll be _fine_ , Mom," he managed to choke out, catching a concerned look from Joey. "Wrong pipe," he coughed. "'Scuse me."

"Then that's everything," Barbara reassured them with a quick tug on her earrings while studying her reflection in the stove's ventilation panel. "In case I don't see you in the morning, either, you boys have a pleasant trip. Billy, say hello to your father for me."

She strode out of the room quickly enough that Billy was sure she didn't hear him mutter, "Yeah, I'm sure he'll appreciate _that_."

Joey tilted his head and waited till Barbara's steps had faded enough for him to safely respond. "Bitter divorce, huh?" he asked softly.

Billy swilled his cocoa around, smirking. "Let me tell you something, you couldn't find _acid_ that bitter."

Joey whistled and clinked his mug against Billy's, draining the last of his own. The front door closed loudly. " _Someone's_ in a hurry," he observed full-voice, looking at Billy with open pity. "Is she always like that?"

"Give or take a few other shades of bitchy, yeah," Billy replied, snatching Joey's mug away and setting it down beside his own. "And she's not the _only_ one in a hurry, unless you're just fucking arou— _mmf!_ "

Billy closed his eyes and leaned forward, lost in the feel of Joey's lips soft and warm against his own. Somehow, he managed to scoot his chair out from the table without breaking the kiss, but in order to get Joey into his lap, well, that required parting. Joey was a sight well worth it, though, all fierce dark eyes and kiss-swollen lips, and then he was straddling Billy and they were kissing again, deep and hard, and it was all that Billy could do to wrap both arms around him and keep from moaning. If he did that, Joey would react in such a fashion that would make it really fucking difficult to make it to the bedroom in time. Joey paused for breath, a gasping sigh against Billy's lips. Billy opened his eyes and blinked up at him, breathless.

"Your Mom's not kidding, is she? I'm sleeping on your floor tonight?"

"Of course you're not," Billy reassured him, stroking up his back. "You're—"

"I mean in your _room_ ," Joey said incredulously, disentangling his fingers from Billy's hair. 

"Well, yeah," Billy said. "There's a guest room, but she likes to keep that open. In case. Besides, she didn't clean it up from last time. You'll see this closed door at the end of my hall, right? That's it."

"She must bring folks home a lot," Joey said absently, pressing a kiss to Billy's neck.

 _Ah_. "Often enough," Billy said, skimming his fingers along Joey's sides not quite lightly enough to tickle. "So, d'you want—"

"How about bed first, questions later?" Joey asked, breath damp against Billy's neck.

"That...that works," Billy gasped, grasping Joey's waist and urging him to his feet. "Come on."

"Nice house," Joey remarked as Billy led him back the hall. "If it weren't so fucking frilled up. She didn't do any of that shit to your room, did she?"

"Barely," Billy said, leaning to flip the lightswitch as they passed the bathroom. "Beige all over the place," he said before turning it off again. "See?" 

"Yeah," Joey said with a mild grimace. "Could be worse, though."

"Over here," Billy said, grabbing Joey's wrist and tugging him across the hall a few feet. "Conveniently located for all of your cleaning-up needs." He turned the light on and stepped inside, waiting till Joey followed to close the door.

"No danger of your Mom coming back, is there?" Joey asked, glancing around the room, lingering over the few posters on the walls.

"Nah," Billy said, flopping carelessly down on the bed and staring at the ceiling for a second before patting a spot on the comforter beside him. "I'd bet my life on it." 

Joey watched him for a few seconds, then tugged his shirt free of his slacks and started to unbutton it almost casually. Billy struggled up onto his elbows to watch, feeling himself harden under Joey's idle gaze. _God, you know just how to get me, don't you?_ Joey slipped out of the shirt and tossed it over his suitcase, then crawled onto the mattress beside Billy. He ran his fingers down the line of Billy's own buttons, then worked them open one by one, his eyes fixed on Billy's all the while. Billy had a hard time finding his breath as he finally struggled out of the shirt and tossed it over his shoulder. He didn't care _where_ the damn thing landed, not when Joey was sitting there half-bared and beautiful.

"Come here," Billy said softly, but Joey was already moving, pushing him back against the comforter. _Oh, fuck, I've wanted_...

"Like you even had to ask," Joey murmured, leaning close, and then _mmm_ , his mouth opened against Billy's again and his slender, attentive fingers were all over the place. Through a haze of pleasure, Billy wondered if one of these days Joey was bent on proving that it would take no more than enough of those burning caresses up and down his chest to make him come.

"Slow down," Billy managed, catching Joey's wrists and leaning up to dot a kiss against Joey's throat. "I'm not gonna last forever here."

"Me neither," Joey said, bending to steal another hungry kiss.

Billy skimmed his hands down to Joey's waist, tugging at his belt-loops before tracing inward to Joey's bellybutton with both index fingers. Joey gasped into Billy's mouth and jumped, which resulted in a momentarily painful clash of teeth.

"Fucker," Joey mumbled, wiggling impatiently as Billy struggled with his zipper. "You must want a trip to the dentist pretty bad."

"For your information," Billy said, working his hand inside Joey's open fly and appreciating the stifled moan resulting from the brush of his fingers, "I just want _you_ , but you're making this difficult. Bed first, yeah _right_ , this is—ah, _Joey!_ "

Joey's fingers dipped beneath Billy's waistband, then stilled. He was looking down at Billy, grinning like a maniac. "Then let me help you out of those, huh?"

"I was— _trying_ —to help you out of yours," Billy managed through gritted teeth, pulling his hand away. He let Joey unbutton him, then watched hazily as Joey crawled off the bed and yanked his pants down and off from the ankles, only now he was laughing and Billy was finding it hard not to laugh, too.

"Is this where 'Your mother dresses you funny' comes from?" Joey asked, dropping Billy's pants on the floor before stripping out of his own. "Because I hate to break it to you, but that shirt's just—"

"Shut up," Billy responded, but it came out kind of strangled, since Joey was fingering the waistband of his own boxers with a teasing look in his eyes, and did he know it made no fucking difference, just as long as he got back on the fucking bed?

Joey's eyes finally softened, then he sat down on the edge of the mattress and struggled out of his boxers without a second thought. Billy rolled over as Joey crawled up beside him, catching him in a tight embrace. _Mm_ , it felt too good to hold him like that, skin to skin and rubbing against each other before they could help it, and Joey's mouth wound up crushed against Billy's again, just like a magnet. _Too good_. Billy pinned Joey on his back and pushed against him hard, already demanding. _You're a cocktease, Joey Trotta!_

Joey's breath caught on a telltale whimper, and Billy backed off a bit, slowing down. "Yeah," Joey whispered, blinking up at Billy hazily, his face flushed. "Like that. Maybe...oh, _fuck_ , I've missed..." He was feverish already, fingers fisting tight against Billy's shoulders. "Really missed you," he managed, the last of his breath escaping on a low moan as his eyes slid closed.

"You too," Billy panted, but the words didn't come out right, or at least he didn't think they did, and he closed his eyes and moved faster. He couldn't think about anything else—Joey's breath coming high and rushed, Joey's _voice_ , Joey's body hot and smooth and frantic against him and _fuck_ —

"Billy," Joey was whispering, clutching at Billy's shoulders now. "Billy— _oh_ , I'm gonna—"

"Come on, love," Billy gasped against his neck, struggling to hold on just a little bit longer. "Come _on_ —"

" _Billy!_ "

Billy lifted his head and pried his eyes open, tightening his hold on Joey. It was worth it to watch Joey's head snap back and feel it surge through him, _always_ worth it to let the sudden jerk of Joey's hips and the pressure of his fingertips push him over the edge, too. He let his head drop to the comforter, finally, smothering his own cry against the fabric, turning his head just enough to feel soft dark hair against his desperately parted lips.

"Not going anywhere," Joey breathed, sliding one hand up to tangle in Billy's curls.

Billy nuzzled Joey's ear and shivered with the aftershocks. "Better not."

"Like I can get up anyway, dickhead!" Joey was laughing already, fingers stroking through Billy's hair.

Billy squirmed and nuzzled lower, licked his neck playfully. "I'm not _letting_ you."

"Ever again?"

"Not for a while, anyway," Billy murmured, gently kissing the spot he'd licked.

"Sounds good." Joey's voice was already soft and tired, his words slow with fatigue.

"You can sleep if you want," Billy suggested, lifting his head for a kiss.

Joey returned it lazily, winding his arms around Billy's neck. Billy rolled them over to one side, gathering him close. Joey relaxed with a hum, then froze.

"We're gonna make a mess," he said ruefully, pulling away from Billy enough to frown at the patch of comforter between them.

"Never mind, I'll just flip it over later," Billy reassured him. "Lay down."

Joey looked up, then leaned for another kiss. "Okay," he said, settling down in Billy's arms without further hesitation.

"It's just for tonight," Billy said, caressing his hair.

"Might've been better to stay here the whole time," Joey sighed. "Are we gonna have it this easy at your Dad's place?"

Billy's stomach lurched. "Not really...but it's too late, I already told him we'd come to the party. It's his turn to take me whether I've got a friend along or not."

"We'll make do," Joey murmured, then kissed his shoulder. "What was that talk about sleep?"

"Asshole," Billy mumbled, yawning in spite of himself. "Get some rest. I love you."

Joey looked up and smiled, his eyes half-lidded and heavy.

* * *

"Dad sent this," Joey said, rummaging in the side pocket of his suitcase and producing a card-sized white envelope. "Don't ask me what it is, I don't have a _clue_."

"So long as it doesn't blow up when I open it," Billy said wryly, sitting up. "I'm sure that just about everyone who's done business with my Mom would love to off her."

"It's for _you_ , idiot," Joey said, flopping down beside him on the sheets. "Not your Mom."

"You're kidding, right?" Billy asked, turning the envelope over in his hands. It was unmarked and sealed with a plain gold sticker.

"That's what Dad said," Joey said with a shrug, leaning over curiously. "Open it."

Billy tore through the thick paper, then tugged the card free carefully. It was white, too, but the embossing was gold, a generic (but classy) Christmas motif with bells and holly. Before he had a chance to open the card, something slipped out.

"Gift certificate, looks like," Joey said, picking it up and handing it to Billy.

"Radio Shack," Billy mused, glancing sidelong at Joey. "You sure you didn't have anything to do with this?"

Joey held both hands up, eyes wide and innocent. "I swear, man. I didn't know a thing."

"Anyway, that's nice of him," Billy said, opening the card. Blank, except for a few lines of bold, curt handwriting: _Merry Christmas, Billy. Your presence is welcome here at any time or season. Sincerest holiday wishes to you and yours. Albert Trotta._

Joey made an unidentifiable sound in the back of his throat. Billy set the card down and touched Joey's cheek, turning his head enough for a kiss. "I guess you impressed the in-law, huh?" Joey murmured as they drew apart. His voice was tense with apprehension. 

_I wish your Dad wouldn't do shit that upsets you so much_. "I don't see why you'll do any different," Billy said, hugging Joey tightly. "Don't worry about Mom. She's as shallow as they come."

"Yeah, I kind of got that impression," Joey said with mild sarcasm, squirming away and off the bed again.

"Where are you going?" Billy asked, setting the card and certificate aside.

"Well, see, there's these things called presents," Joey explained. He had the suitcase open against the wall, and he was digging around under his clothes.

"I _knew_ that," Billy muttered, getting up off the bed. "Give me a second to find yours, too."

"Find?" Joey echoed. "That doesn't sound good."

"They're under the bed," Billy explained, "but I stuck some of the stuff I got yesterday under here, too." He crouched down and pushed a few boxes of shirts and socks out of the way till he saw the corner of one of the red-lidded ones he'd put Joey's gifts in. _Way to go, genius, the ribbon's crushed_. The second one wasn't far behind it. Thankfully, the ribbon was still intact and the card was still attached. He heard the mattress sag and glanced up. Joey was sprawled on his stomach across the bed, watching with curiosity.

"I'm not much good with gift-wrap," Billy apologized, setting the two boxes up on the bed. The two beside Joey on the sheets were neatly wrapped in sage green paper. No ribbons, but Joey had made quite a show of adorning Billy's name on the card stuck to the largest of the two. He leaned forward and brushed his lips lightly against Joey's cheek.

"Like I care," Joey said, crawling into a sitting position, then reaching down to help Billy up onto the bed. "Those stupid-ass bows. You went to enough trouble as it is."

Billy ignored Joey's remark and reached over to run his fingers across the ornate black-marker lettering on the back of his card. He'd seen that before, hadn't he? Something like it, just—

"I got your sketchbook," Billy said, at a loss for something more eloquent. He'd looked at it over and over again since the ride home from Regis; it had kept him company through the evenings after long days of his mother's tiresome company. Had it really been just over a week since they parted ways at school for the break? God, it felt like ages. _And you knew that it would, didn't you?_

"Keep it," Joey said. "That one's full anyway, and I don't need the notes anymore."

"Thanks," Billy said softly, reaching for the two boxes he'd pulled from under the bed. "Here," he said, putting them in Joey's lap. "Your turn."

Joey pulled the card away first, opening it with unusual care. He smirked at the front, and Billy wondered for a second if he'd picked something _too_ wise-ass. He'd been hoping that what he'd written on the inside would balance out the joke, though, and he held his breath while Joey read it. Before he knew it, Joey was wearing another helpless grin and all but knocking him flat on his back again.

"You're _such_ a dickhead," Joey murmured, brushing his lips against Billy's. "I love you, too."

"Oh, come on," Billy sighed in mock exasperation, shoving him away playfully. "Open 'em!"

"Whatever you say," Joey said, prying the lid off the first. He looked about like he was going to knock Billy over again when he picked up the pair of boxers half-hidden in the tissue paper. "Looks like Daffy's a better kick than you are," he said with a smirk, studying the Looney Tunes' soccer game in progress. "Taz as goalie, though? Man, I don't know about that. Goes so fast he might _miss_ the ball." He started to tuck them into the box, then thought better of it. He snapped the tags off without hesitation and squirmed into them, falling back against the pillows with his legs thrown across Billy's lap. "How do they look?"

"Goofy," Billy replied, grinning, reaching for the second box and plunking it down on Joey's belly. "You're not done yet."

Joey sat up just enough to see what he was doing. He tossed the lid aside and brushed the paper aside, staring for a couple of seconds before reaching in to extract the small pile of books. Three _Garfield_ comics, numbers seventeen through nineteen. A guitar fakebook for _Y Kant Tori Read_. Joey flipped through the comics with a satisfied smile, then waved the music book in Billy's face. 

"Yeah, you _really_ mustn't pay attention to the 'chick rock' on that tape I've got, huh?" He thwapped Billy on the shoulder with it, then leaned over and kissed him. "I'll play it for you next time we're at my place. How'd you know—"

"There's a guitar case in your closet," Billy said with a shrug. "If you'd gotten up from the kitchen any sooner, you would've caught me there instead of going through your CDs."

"You nosy fuck," Joey murmured, flipping through the pages of music with near reverence.

"We've already established that," Billy said, scooting up beside Joey and slipping an arm around his waist. "It's not too hard or anything, is it?"

"This? No problem. Pretty standard. No harder than what comes out in the monthly..." He was lost again, tapping a rhythm in the margin of the page with his index finger.

Billy reached for the smaller of the two boxes Joey had pulled from his suitcase, then shook it. "Heavy little sucker."

Joey looked up and nodded at it. "Careful with that."

Billy set it down between them and reached for the larger box, ripping the card away without meaning to. _Gonna save this envelope, too,_ he thought, slipping the card out into his hand. Weird image on the cover, some kind of photo collage that didn't remind him much of Christmas at all, till he realized it was a series of winter images in bizarre juxtaposition, the front a bit rough and uneven to the touch—well, _duh_. Joey had made the entire fucking card. He lifted it open and found the inside covered in black paper, written-on in stark white: _Winter's always the warmest. At least this year. How about we make it next, too? Love, Joey._

Billy looked up to find Joey watching him intently. The music book sat to one side, slipping off the pile of comics. Billy wanted to say something, _needed_ to say something, but he could only manage a deep breath and a nod. Joey didn't seem to mind. Billy took him back in his arms and wondered how that could ever be enough.

"You and your songs," he whispered against Joey's hair. "You don't have to hide them from me, got that?"

"Yeah." Joey's breath was warm against his neck. "Got it."

"That winter one, it's kinda nice. I remember."

"It's a good line," Joey said, drawing away to look at him. "Here."

Billy caught the small-but-heavy box against his chest, then hooked his fingers under the taped-up ends and pulled the paper away. Massage oil of some kind, a glass bottle inside the fancy company packaging. Pale greenish, and when he unscrewed the lid, it reminded him of...

"Thanksgiving," Billy said, screwing the cap back on and pointing the bottle at Joey. "That shampoo of yours."

"You liked it," Joey said, smirking.

"So I did," Billy said with a shrug, pressing the bottle against Joey's neck.

"Fucker."

"We'll warm it up later."

Joey's fingers slipped in grasping at the other box. "Good idea. But we'd better use the air mattress a little, or your Mom's gonna know I didn't sleep in it."

"No problem," Billy said, reaching for the other box himself. Looked like clothes, felt like clothes. He lifted the lid away, wondering _what_ —

"Please don't tell me I was wrong about you ogling that every time we passed the fucking window."

Billy shook the robe out, dazed, rubbing the red silk fabric between his fingers. "Um, no." _Only one decent men's shop within walking distance of Regis, and damned if you didn't ferret out my little secret, too._

"Well, you have pretty good taste. You'll...you'll look good in that. Better than I would."

Billy shook the garment out and slipped into it, then kicked all the paper and boxes aside. "You're such a fucking romantic, you know that?" he asked, pulling Joey in close and teasing his side with a light caress.

Joey jumped and tried to twist away, but Billy held him fast. "So what, asshole? You don't seem to mind that too much, either."

"Mm, no," Billy murmured, kissing Joey's neck. "Love it."

"Prove it." Joey was grinning again, he could hear it. 

Billy wrapped his arms around him and pushed him back against the pillows. "Fine..."

* * *

His mother's knock was a more dreaded sound than the clamor of his alarm clock at school. Billy groaned and tightened his arm around Joey, pressing a soft kiss to the nape of his neck. "Here it comes," he whispered, stroking Joey's belly.

"Billy, get up. It's ten!"

Joey started with a gasp, but Billy moved his hand and set it carefully over Joey's mouth. "I'm _up_ , Mom. You're gonna disturb Joey. I'll shower first."

"Fine," Barbara said, already walking away. "Your father said he'd be here before noon."

Joey's breath hissed through Billy's fingers. "Close one."

Billy kissed the back of his neck again. "No sweat."

Joey squirmed around to face him. "'Morning," he whispered, his breath mingling with Billy's.

"I had better go shower," Billy said reluctantly. "But I'd rather lie here all day with you."

Joey kissed him hard and fast. "For some reason, I think getting in trouble with your Mom might be worse than getting in trouble with Parker. Go ahead." Joey kissed him again, then stretched and slipped out of bed, staggering over to the air mattress, which was rumpled from a rather brief bit of tussling the night before.

"Yeah," Billy murmured. "Rest a little more, love."

Joey blinked at him, grinning. "I think I like you half asleep."

* * *

"Joey Trotta," David Tepper said thoughtfully, giving Joey's hand a vigorous shake, wearing an even more vigorous smile. "Pleasure to finally meet you. They taking good enough care of you around here?" He glanced at Billy almost sternly.

"Just fine, Mr. Tepper." Joey returned the smile halfheartedly, shifting his single-handed grip on his suitcase.

"They must have been up all night," Barbara said, taking a prim sip of her coffee. "Hardly said a word at breakfast."

"Too much food to talk around," Billy said, eyeing his mother pointedly as he shrugged into his coat. "We're ready to go, Dad."

"Light packer, as always," his father said to no one in particular, watching Billy shoulder his duffel bag. "Do you have—"

"—everything?"

Billy glanced back and forth between his mother and his father, then rolled his eyes. "Yes."

Joey cut through the tension with an earnest, if not awkward sentiment directed at Billy's mother. "Thanks for having me."

Barbara tore her eyes away from her ex-husband immediately, then smiled warmly at Joey. "Any time," she murmured, hand starting as if to reach for his shoulder and freezing just as quickly in an abstract gesture. "You're very welcome. I hope you have a nice drive. Billy," she added, "please mind your m—you look after Joey, now."

"I _will_ , Mom," Billy muttered, leaning stiffly into her embrace and withdrawing hastily. "See you later."

Billy's father smiled and nodded curtly, almost as if to say _enough of that_ , then looked at his ex-wife. "Merry Christmas, Barbara."

"David," she murmured smoothly, unblinking over her coffee.

"Then we're off."

Joey let out his breath as soon as they had stepped out into the cold, picking their way carefully down the iced-over front steps in the wake of Billy's father, watching him set about cheerfully brushing the thin layer of new-fallen snow away from the white Cadillac's windshield. "Man, they're like ice," he whispered to Billy, shaking his head incredulously.

"Yeah," Billy replied, "and if you hadn't been there, they would have—"

"Billy, just put those bags in the back. Let me pop the trunk."

They waited at the rear of the car until Billy's father had opened the front door and hit the mechanism. Billy took both suitcases despite Joey's murmured protest, settling them carefully side by side before reaching to shut the lid. 

"Wait!" Joey whispered, staying him, then reaching down to unzip the outer pocket of his suitcase and pull something out. He produced a sketchbook with a pen clipped onto the binding. "Just in case," he said casually.

 _Ha!_ "Need anything else?"

"Nope," Joey said, tucking the notebook under his arm, heading around the side of the car with a grin over his shoulder at Billy. "Let's go."

The ride passed in relative silence, punctuated by little more than David's scattered attempts at polite conversation with Joey and stilted attempts at bonding with Billy. Joey's pen scratched to the tunes of eighties and oldies on the radio—they passed it back and forth, scribbling their way through games of hangman and tic-tac-toe, exchanging silent conversation. Joey shook his head and drew an emphatic _C_ through yet another stalemate grid, then jotted underneath, _How long we been on the road, 1/2 hr. or so?_

 _Yeah_ , Billy wrote. _Another 40 mins maybe_.

Joey took the pen back and sighed. _He listen to this station all the time?_

 _Don't like it?_ Billy raised an eyebrow.

Joey shrugged, half grinning. _Just not my thing, I guess—well, not all of them._

Billy took the pen and scrawled, _Well for your information I LOVE oldies_.

 _If you promise not to dismiss Tori as chick rock again, I just might forgive you for that_ , Joey wrote, but he was smiling as he did, leaning into Billy close enough to whisper, "Ask him to change the station?"

Billy grabbed Joey's free hand under the notebook. "Hey, Dad?"

* * *

"We haven't used this room in a while, so pardon if it's a little cold," David apologized, turning the light on for Joey. "If you leave the door open, I'm sure it'll be warmed up by tonight."

Billy peered over Joey's shoulder, studying the unevenly made-up bed. _At least he tried_.

"Thanks," Joey said, nodding with one of his more awkward smiles. "Will do."

"Show him around, Billy," David said, then left them standing in the doorway.

Once they were completely alone in the hall, Billy nudged Joey into the room and shut the door quietly behind them. "He scores more hospitality points in _my_ book, anyway."

Joey rolled his eyes and laughed, relaxing a little. "Yeah, _but_ —he didn't offer us hot chocolate."

"I don't think he even has any in the kitchen," Billy said, taking Joey's bag and setting it on the chair his father had placed beside the bed. "You want some?"

"Nah, but tea or something would be nice. It's about lunchtime anyway."

"Dad's probably gone to pick something up. He's a worse cook than Mom, unless he's using the grill."

"Too bad it's winter," Joey sighed, sitting down on the bed. He stood up again hesitantly, glancing around the room as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I don't suppose there's any excuse for you to sleep on the floor in here, huh?"

 _Don't I fucking wish_. "We'll make do," Billy said, sitting down and tugging Joey with him. "I'm up the hall and around the corner. Dad's out all day starting tomorrow, at least till the first. So..."

Joey turned around in Billy's lap and fixed him with a hard look. "Yeah, well, I'm gonna go nuts tonight."

"So am I."

Joey sighed and ran his fingers through Billy's hair. "So, let's find something to do before I get some really, really bad ideas."

"Bad?" Billy pouted.

"Risky," Joey corrected himself, leaning so close that their foreheads touched.

"Video games downstairs," Billy offered between kisses. "Pool table—pinball machine—stereo, if he hasn't busted it again, bastard, he probably wants me to fix—"

"Pinball," Joey managed. "That's a start."

* * *

"Why do you sleep so still? I'll wake you tomorrow, and you will be my fill...and you will be my fill..."

Billy tapped his fork impatiently against his plate, glancing across the table at Joey. "Dad, what song is that?"

"Your lips feel like winter, your skin has turned to white..." His father continued to poke at the bacon, but more gingerly now, eyes fixed on the frying pan as he sang under his breath. He had a pretty good voice, actually. 

"Don't think he heard you," Joey mouthed, half smiling. He looked like he hadn't slept much. _Dammit, if I could just hold you_.

"Doesn't matter," Billy said, aimlessly tapping his glass this time. "I just want some breakfast."

"Your heart seems so silent—why do you breathe so low, why do you breathe so low?"

"Mr. Tepper?"

Billy's father stopped humming and turned to look at Joey. "What can I get for you?"

Joey shook his head. "Nothing, I just wondered what song that is. Might've heard it before."

" _Lady D'Arbanville_. Cat Stevens, a little before your time."

Joey nodded and glanced at Billy. "Thanks."

"No problem," David replied, then removed the pan from the stove, carried it over to the counter, and started to sing again. "Though in your grave you lie, I'll always be with you..."

"Depressing song," Billy said.

"I'll bet I can figure out the chords. Pretty lively for what it is." Joey rubbed his eyes with one hand and ran his fingers through his hair. "So what's up for today?"

David opened a cupboard and reached for a clean plate. "I loved you, my lady. Though in your grave you lie, I'll always be with you..."

Billy glanced at his father, then back at Joey, and rolled his eyes. "Whatever you want, actually. No plans."

"Why don't you take him down to the park?" David suggested. "You were probably cooped up at your mother's." He set the plate down on the table between Billy and Joey, then wiped his hands on a piece of paper towel. "The eggs are up to you."

"Gee, thanks," Billy muttered, getting up and heading for the fridge as his father headed for the hallway.

Joey grabbed his arm. "I'll do it, if you want. And a walk sounds like a good idea."

Billy paused, listening to his father slam the cabinet in the bathroom. "It's pretty fucking cold out there," he said, catching Joey's wrist in a loose grip.

Joey shrugged and shoved him back into his seat, then went over to the fridge himself. "So?" But what his eyes said was, _You can warm me up later_.

"If you want," Billy said with a shrug, watching Joey take out the egg carton and inspect its contents critically. "It's a pretty nice walk. We've been going there for years. Can't run remote control cars in winter, though."

"I thought the walk part was the point," Joey said, setting the carton aside on the counter and giving Billy another loaded glance.

 _Fuck, two more days of this_. _I wish he'd go to work and never come home_ , Billy thought. He stood up and went over to grab the frying pan, then put it back on the stove. "Sit down."

Joey pushed him out of the way again. "No. Really, I'll do it."

"If I do, that means I'm a bad host," Billy protested, teasing now as he caught Joey's hands.

Joey was trying not to smile. "Oh, I forgot. Your Mom will be disappointed."

"Hey, I _want_ to take care of—"

"Billy, where's the dryer?"

"I didn't use it," Billy called back.

"It's not here." His father sounded annoyed.

Joey shoved at him more gently, then picked up the egg carton. "You left it in your room yesterday. Get out of here, I'll handle your fucking breakfast. Two?"

"Three," Billy said, then hesitated a minute before leaning to kiss Joey on the cheek. "Over—"

"Easy," Joey murmured, kissing him back.

* * *

Joey exhaled, watching his breath turn to frost. "I always used to pretend it was smoke."

"Did your Dad smoke cigars?" Billy asked, amused.

Joey grinned and punched his arm. "No. Think _dragon_ smoke."

Billy breathed a long puff, kicking at the frozen puddle beneath their feet. "Yeah, I can see where you would've had fun with that."

"One of the only things I miss. I mean from when I was a kid," Joey said, catching one of the stray pieces of ice beneath his boot and kicking it back toward Billy.

"Not like you've lost your imagination or anything," Billy said, halting the shard's skidding path with his heel.

"Sometimes I think it was easier," Joey sighed, gazing out across the snow-blanketed stretch of ground. "Before I knew too much."

"Good thing you don't know everything," Billy offered, teasing. He abandoned the ice to skid up behind Joey, taking hold of Joey's shoulder for balance. _Where are you, Joey?_

Joey reached up and caught hold of his hand, but he didn't turn to look at him. His eyes were lost in a grove of distant maple trees, reflecting branches cold and silent. "I stopped wishing I did a long time ago."

 _Come back to me, love_. "That would take a lot of fun out of..." Billy lost his train of thought and slid his other arm around Joey's waist, leaning to kiss the sliver of his nape visible between the collar of his coat and his hat.

Joey turned his head, his grip tightening on Billy's hand. "What are you doing?"

"Holding you," Billy answered. It didn't require thinking, and he didn't really care if anyone was watching.

Joey sighed and tugged Billy's arm around himself to join the other. "I don't think anything could take the fun out of this."

"I know what you mean," Billy said, which probably sounded pretty lame, but he tightened his arms around Joey and meant it.

"That storm's going to hit tonight," Joey murmured. He was watching the heavy sky now, tracing the layers of clouds.

"Maybe Dad will get stuck," Billy said hopefully.

"Wouldn't count on it, but that would be nice." Joey drew one of Billy's hands up and kissed it, breathing over the damp spot.

"Maybe it'll start early if we do a snowdance," Billy suggested, swaying sharply to one side.

"Hey!" Joey staggered and slipped, nearly bringing both of them down.

Billy caught him tightly, wobbling for a moment till they had both found their balance. "Bad idea, I guess."

Joey turned around and grinned at him, wrapping his arms around Billy's waist. "No it wasn't."

Billy thought he might lose his balance again based solely on the fact that Joey was holding _him_ without any mind for the kids with their sled a short distance away, or the pair of younger boys having a snowball fight behind them. He couldn't find a response to that; he could only stand there and stare, stand there and _fall_ into Joey's eyes. Those fucking _incredible_ eyes.

"You still with me?"

"Yeah," Billy said softly, reaching up to cradle the back of Joey's head and bring them nose to nose. "Not going anywhere."

The concern in Joey's eyes melted away. "Good," he said quietly.

Billy kissed Joey right there, slow and careful, and against his cheek he could feel Joey's gloved fingers brushing away the first traces of newly fallen snow.

* * *

"Almost ready?" David called. Billy could hear his father's slow, measured pacing up the hall. He wondered if Joey was out there, too.

"Yeah!" Billy shouted, almost stumbling over a pile of laundry on his way to the dresser. "Lost my socks!"

"Find a new pair," his father replied, footsteps fading with the sound of his voice. "I'll be downstairs. The Hemenovers are here."

 _Stupid business associates_. Billy found a new pair of navy blue socks and struggled into them standing. His Dad seemed pretty set on boring them to tears. Last year, Mr. Hemenover had been the one to lose their team the last round of Win, Lose, or Draw. Was it really so hard to recognize Elvis, even as a stick figure? Billy sighed and shoved his feet into his dress shoes. Maybe they'd be allowed to have coctails on account of Joey's visit being a sort of special occasion.

"Knock knock."

Billy dropped his shoelaces and picked his way over to the door. "Joey?"

"He's long gone. Let me in."

Billy opened the door. Joey was ready (just as he'd guessed), standing there in his dark slacks and an off-white shirt that made Billy think entirely too much of the casual one he wore at school. The glint of silver in his left ear was smaller than usual, just a round stud as bright as if it had just been polished, or perhaps it was new. Didn't matter.

Billy bit his tongue and stepped back, letting Joey pass. "You're quick."

"Your socks have the right idea," Joey shot back, eyes scanning the room. "What a fucking mess. I'm not sure you could've gotten me to sleep in here." He smirked at Billy's untied shoes. "You need help with those?"

"Hey, look, we left my Mom's place for a _reason_." Billy bent and tied them quickly, then raised his eyebrows, challenging.

"I'm not complaining," Joey said, his eyes sweeping over Billy from head to foot. "Not complaining at all." He reached out and brushed Billy's collar. "You look good."

"Yeah, well, you look great," Billy said, catching Joey close and tucking a kiss against his ear before he could protest. "We should get down there, though."

Joey made a disdainful _pht_ sound against his neck. "What's on the schedule, anyway? If it's anything like my Dad's parties, sorry, I'm gonna shoot myself."

Billy grimaced. "Cocktails, mingling, lame-ass games. Got your jacket?"

"No, it's in the other room," Joey groaned. "Damn, your Dad's formal."

Billy let go of Joey, then whisked his own off the bed and shrugged into it. "Just a few hours, I promise."

Joey looked at his watch dubiously. "It's almost nine. In a few hours, it'll _be_ —"

Billy leaned and kissed him briefly, then tugged him toward the door. "That's the point."

"But where...?"

"We'll come back up here. Or slip outside. I don't know, I'll think of something!"

Joey grinned at him the whole way to the guest bedroom. "You always do," he agreed, slipping into his jacket reluctantly.

The first floor of the house was still entirely decked out for Christmas—the work of some decorator, Billy had guessed upon their arrival, one with _significantly_ different taste from his mother. Joey picked at the wreath in the foyer as they passed through it, bringing his fingers briefly to his nose before letting the two needles fall, crushed and smelling sharply of real pine. Billy could hear voices from the next room, more than just the Hemenovers. His father was laughing, and a woman's voice wasn't far behind. Several others seemed to be close by, their conversation indistinct and uninteresting.

"Well, here goes nothing," Joey murmured, lingering beside him in the doorway.

"Be prepared for a lot of superficial ass-kissing," Billy muttered, touching Joey's arm before making his way toward a table over by the fireplace laden with a selection of cheeses and outrageous hors d'oeuvres. His father was standing in front of the punch bowl with the Hemenovers and a strange woman on his arm.

"Your people too?" Joey asked under his breath, smiling thinly as Billy's father caught his eye.

"Billy, we were just discussing you," Mrs. Hemenover said.

Billy took her hand and shook it politely. "Is that so?"

"Why don't you tell them about Regis?" his father suggested.

Billy glanced at Joey briefly. "Well, I guess it's nicer than—"

"He's doing extremely well," David said almost hastily, smiling at the brunette beside him. "He's in constant need of a challenge. Emerson simply wasn't doing it for him."

"That's a shame," Mr. Hemenover said. "My son did very well there."

Joey spoke up unexpectedly. "Regis was actually one of my first choices, too."

David nodded with lofty approval. "A sound decision."

Billy cleared his throat. "This is Joey," he said to Mr. Hemenover, who was still studying him closely. "We're roommates." 

Mr. Hemenover shook Joey's hand. "Pleased to meet you. Are your parents in attendance?"

"No," Joey said firmly, letting go of his hand.

"Joey's father is a former client of mine."

Billy watched Joey's eyes snap towards his father. "What a coincidence," he said, surprisingly calm.

"Seems like we're just full of them tonight," Billy cut in, smiling at the Hemenovers, then at his father. "Would you excuse us?"

Joey didn't speak again until Billy had steered him safely to the far end of the table and put a plate in his hand. "I didn't know that," he said pensively. "I recognized your Mom's business, but not your Dad's. But I guess that shouldn't surprise me, should it?"

"It bothers you," Billy said, unable to think of a better way of approaching the subject.

"Yeah, it bothers me a lot," Joey said with a hard look, reaching for a set of tongs on the white tablecloth. "Who knows how deep my Dad's fucking network—"

" _Shhh_ ," Billy whispered, stroking Joey's arm briefly. "Listen, I don't think you have anything to worry about. My parents know _something_ , yeah. But if it's the knowing better you're worried about, I'm sure they know better."

Joey was still tense, looking at him uncertainly as he dropped a piece of cheese on his plate. "Not exactly. I just don't want..."

"You won't hurt me. Not like that." _For crying out loud, your Dad sent me a fucking gift certificate_.

"I hate it," Joey muttered, moving to the next silver tray and plucking up a few crackers angrily. "Why does it have to be—"

"Have to be _what_ , Joey?" Billy asked, tugging Joey up to look at him again.

"Like it is," Joey said simply, and the bitterness in his smile could've broken Billy's heart.

 _Oh, if I could_... "Don't think about that," Billy said, lowering his voice and smiling back. "It's fucking New Year's, and I'm going to—"

"Billy, your aunt's arrived."

Billy swore that he'd give Joey a kiss for every time he was forced at the sound of his father's voice to drag his feet across the room for yet another pointless, insipid meeting. Who _cared_ that he was at _another_ new school, anyway? No matter how good his father tried to make it sound, and no matter how consistently he played along, they all knew the real reason. If it had been anyone but Joey standing there at his shoulder, Billy would've been almost embarrassed. In the end, it added up to more kisses than he could count. Fucking _hell_ , if they could just steal a _minute_...

"Wild night," Joey said, collapsing carefully on the couch beside Billy with a newly refilled glass of punch. 

Billy glanced around the room, wondering exactly when it had gotten so full. "Tell me about it."

"So who else is lurking out there that might want to pinch your cheek and ask about your grades?"

"Nobody," Billy muttered into his own punch. "I hope."

"Your Dad's sister is pretty tame in comparison to some of his friends." Joey took a drink and sank further back against the cushions, letting their shoulders touch.

"Not sure when I became the company mascot."

Joey turned his head and gave Billy a sympathetic look. "Would your Dad complain if..."

Billy reached over and touched Joey's arm. "Just a little bit longer." _I promise_.

* * *

"Viv, have you seen the boys?"

"Fuck," Billy muttered, grabbing Joey's hand and tugging him back through the foyer into the crowded room.

"It was worth a shot," Joey sighed, letting go of Billy's hand and following him through the crowd toward the sound of David's voice. 

"They're breaking out the champagne," Billy said, glancing over at the banquet table. "Maybe we should stick around for a few minutes."

Joey glanced at his watch, then gave Billy a pensive look. "It's ten till."

 _I don't want to watch the fucking ball drop, either_. "We'll get out. Trust me."

"Billy! Join us for a toast." David was waving at them from a few feet away, nodding toward the champagne distribution.

"Sure thing, Dad," Billy called, but when he turned around, Joey was already on his way back from the table with a glass in each hand. Billy met him halfway and took one of them awkwardly, giving a grateful nod when he would much rather have begun to repay his debt. "Thanks."

"No problem," Joey said. "So—"

Billy sighed at this newest interruption; his father seemed set upon thanking everyone in attendance by name, and Billy somehow doubted that all of the guests could possibly have known each other or _cared_ , either. Joey clinked his glass against Billy's, smiling thinly. _To us_ , he mouthed, and Billy nodded in agreement, grinning over his glass at the face Joey made as he took a sip of the champagne. Bitter, just like last year. Joey didn't stop, though, drinking till his glass was drained. Billy followed suit, figuring that he'd catch hell later if he wasted it. _Not as good as that wine of yours, Joey-love_. 

Joey studied the bottom of his glass, then stole a glance over at Billy's father, who was now lost in an excitedly mingling crowd of his associates. They were more or less heading toward the television, which Billy and Joey had ignored for the better part of the evening, unless retiring to the couch meant a reprieve from more tiresome greetings. _Yeah_ , Billy thought. _It's now or never_.

"Let's get out of here," Joey whispered.

"My thoughts exactly," Billy answered, tugging Joey on a winding path towards the door. "If Dad calls this time, we never fucking heard him."

"Five till," Joey muttered as they rushed through the foyer. "We'll never make it upstairs."

Billy glanced around, frowning, making sure that they were alone before he took Joey's hand. "Yeah, you're—I got it. This way..."

The coat room was silent, ridiculously vast with its deep red carpet and set of matching divans that were rarely used for anything more complicated than the rows and rows of gold-plated hooks on the wall. Billy closed the door behind them and locked it. Joey was examining the velvet covering of the nearest divan with curious fingertips.

"We can't stay in here long," Billy said, moving up behind him, suddenly tense. _I'm here with you, and it's almost midnight, and you're absolutely_ —

"Don't have to," Joey murmured, turning around to face him. "Just a minute."

"Oh, come on. I didn't mean _that_ brief—"

"I love you," Joey said softly, winding his arms around Billy's neck. "Happy New Year."

"Yeah," Billy whispered, pulling Joey in close. "Probably the best I've ever had."

"It _is_ the best I've ever had." Joey's fingers were in his hair now, gentle and inviting.

"Love you, Joey," Billy said, finding that he couldn't quite swallow around the lump in his throat. "No matter what, got that?"

"Yeah..." Joey's eyes caught the light strangely, fierce and burning. "Forever," he said quietly. "You said..."

 _Yes, I did_. Billy said it all over again, with breath and lips instead of voice, and heat instead of cold fell upon their cheeks as they kissed, tears instead of snow.


	10. Caught

"Billy... _Billy_..." _Dammit_. Another minute of Billy's tongue in his mouth and Joey wouldn't be standing up straight anymore. He could feel the divan against the backs of his legs, sturdy and convenient.

"Yeah, I know," Billy said, voice rough in between kisses, "but you taste so—"

"Taste me somewhere else," Joey mumbled without thinking, wrenching himself away before he could entertain the thought of collapsing with Billy on top of him.

Billy caught his hands and pulled him close again, nuzzling Joey's hair before giving his ear a cautious lick. "That can be arranged."

"Not _here_ ," Joey protested with a hiss of breath. _Godfuckingdammit, Billy, if someone comes in_ —

"Okay," Billy whispered, suddenly as sober as you please. He brushed a dry kiss against Joey's lips, then took his hand, drawing him towards the door. "You want to go upstairs?"

"I sure as hell don't want to get caught," Joey said, tightening his grip on Billy's hand. He wanted Billy so badly that he was dizzy with it, wondering exactly how they'd managed to last six days on stolen kisses, afternoon showers, and furtively meticulous blow-jobs. Not that he'd ever tire of Billy's mouth, but—

"But my room's a fucking mess, remember?" Billy was taunting him, squeezing his fingers. _Smartass_.

"Like I actually fucking _care_ ," Joey responded, opening the door and yanking Billy after him. "See, I have an idea. If your Dad's a normal human being, then in the morning he'll be as dead to the world as everyone else. If we close your door _and_ mine—"

Joey found himself pinned to the wall at the foot of the stairs, caught in a celebratory kiss. "He won't come knocking," Billy said breathlessly, grinning against Joey's mouth. "You genius."

"I try," Joey mumbled, tugging at Billy's jacket as his head clouded with desire. "Now, let's _go_."

Billy had left his door open earlier, and he paused beside it in the doorway, reluctant to let go of Joey's hand. "I guess I should..."

"Clearing the clothes off the bed would be nice," Joey suggested wryly, tugging his hand free and punching Billy in the arm. "Give me two minutes, okay? I'd rather leave my clothes in the guest room."

Billy leaned in and kissed him fiercely. "Okay, but I'm timing you."

"Dickhead," Joey murmured. "Five at most."

He pulled away and dashed back to his room, not bothering to flip the lightswitch. No one was upstairs anyway, and the hall light was more than enough to show him where his buttons were. He left his shirt and suit scattered over the chair beside the bed, then made sure the covers were disarrayed enough (not really a problem). Joey started for the door, hesitated, and turned back to grab a pair of sweatpants and his tie-dye t-shirt from his suitcase. Forgetting those would've been a fatal error, never mind the fact that he was about to make his way back up a veritable stranger's hall in nothing but a pair of Looney Tunes boxers. He wasn't quite sure what to think of Billy's father. The guy was either too attentive, or not attentive enough. At least Amanda didn't try _that_ hard to pretend that mothering wasn't her thing. Or maybe she actually thought she was good at faking it. _Now, **that's** delusional_... _Jesus, Billy, I'm sorry_. Joey closed the door behind him.

Billy was sprawled out naked on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Joey paused in the doorway for a moment, just watching—he could have done that forever, too, as with any number of things, as long as they involved Billy. Kissing came to mind instantly, and thoughts of the promise he'd made just moments before drove him forward. _I appreciate you, even if they don't_.

Joey pulled the door shut carefully, trying not to make a sound. Before he could turn around, he heard the bedclothes rustle. Billy was behind him, on his feet and anxious, his fingers already as tender along Joey's thighs as his mouth at the nape of Joey's neck. Joey let go of the doorknob and swallowed hard, sagging into Billy's arms.

"Impatient?" he asked, but instead of sounding sarcastic, the word was a dry whisper. _I **love** you even if they don't_.

"Yeah." Billy sounded strained, too. Why had he made him wait again? Oh yeah, fucking _doors_.

"Let me get out of these," Joey murmured, stripping out of his boxers clumsily and tossing them on the floor. He twisted around in Billy's arms and pressed up against him with a kiss as hard and fierce as he dared. No more thinking, no more of this fucking around. Joey worked a hand in between them and took Billy in his hand. Flushed and hard, already wet beneath Joey's stroking fingers. _Fuck, that must ache_. _I've got you_.

"Joey, _Joey_..." Billy was mumbling his name and nonsense against Joey's neck. He staggered a little, tugging Joey closer to the bed. "Can't stay like this, either," he whispered.

"I know," Joey said, then kissed him again. "Bed's right behind you," he added, smiling faintly. _God, would you pinch me for saying your whole fucking heart's in your eyes?_ Joey whispered it against Billy's ear, laughing helplessly at the unexpectedness of Billy's arms tight around his waist. " _Hey!_ Not so fast..." Joey squirmed free, then pushed Billy down on the bed. 

Billy sat up immediately. "Hey, what are you—"

"Shhh." Joey bent down and kissed him, climbing into his lap. "Taking care of that," he said, pressing in slowly against Billy until he whimpered. "Do yourself a favor and lay down."

Billy made a protesting noise and kissed him. "But—"

"Let me," Joey insisted, urging Billy back until he collapsed against the disarrayed sheets. "Mm, better..."

"What're you doing?" Billy asked, lifting his head just enough to follow Joey's nibbling progress down the center of his chest. When Joey took a detour for his left nipple and bit playfully, Billy let his head fall back again with a groan. "You're just _asking_ for trouble."

"Since when did that stop _you?_ " Joey countered, lapping his way over to the other side of Billy's chest. He let both hands slip down to Billy's hips, caressing lightly.

"Brat," Billy shot back, pressing up into Joey's hold despite himself.

Joey grinned, dotting kisses the whole way down to Billy's navel. "Good. Thought maybe I was losing my touch." He turned his head to one side, nuzzling at Billy's cock.

" _Oh_ , God. Joey," Billy moaned softly, one hand clutching at the sheets, the other clenching in Joey's hair.

 _Not gonna last, are you?_ Joey glanced up at him one more time before dabbing his tongue to Billy's dampness. "You taste good," he breathed, then opened his mouth enough to take Billy in, sucking tentatively.

"Not—so fast," Billy gritted out, but it was useless. Both hands fisted in Joey's hair now, trembling.

Joey let Billy's cock slip free of his mouth just long enough to murmur, "It's okay. Love, relax..."

Billy did, though Joey didn't give him much of a choice. He'd never tire of this, either, Billy's salt and the softness of that skin against his tongue, the way Billy moved with a jerk and a start, then went tense and still as Joey suckled up and down his length, guiding him into a slow rhythm that they'd both learned wouldn't choke—

"Please," Billy gasped suddenly, tugging at Joey's hair. 

Joey sat back and caught Billy in one hand, stroking him patiently. "What's wrong?"

Billy caught his wrists and tugged Joey upward, and he followed impatiently, knowing it wouldn't do much good if he left Billy hanging like this, not at all. He slid a thigh between Billy's and then wriggled close against him, murmuring into Billy's insistent kisses. "What—"

"Nothing's _wrong_ ," Billy said emphatically, looking up at Joey with the same unblinking intensity. "It's just..." Abandoning speech, Billy flipped Joey onto his back, crawling over him with that soulful look gone predatory. "No more teasing," Billy said, breathing fast and hard. "What do you want?"

"Whatever you want," Joey said. "And I _wasn't_ teasing." His mind had gone blank with shivering, with the sight of Billy— _like this_ , so fierce it was almost frightening, but above all else, somehow, it was thrilling. "I mean it." _I mean it as much as I mean that I love you_.

Billy bent down and kissed his neck, whimpering hungrily. Joey thrust up and wound his arms around Billy's shoulders. He bit his tongue on a cry, arching against the answering pressure of Billy's body. Billy drew back just as suddenly as he had begun, fixing his eyes on Joey's with somber intent. Before Joey could protest, he bent low again and whispered against Joey's lips, "I want..."

Joey shivered, then went motionless. This was something new, something different. His heart pounded with it as Billy let his weight down slowly but firmly, as if he intended to melt into Joey completely.

"...to hear you scream," he finished softly, almost gently. "Don't hide it from me, Joey."

Joey's mind reeled even as his body responded with desperate yearning. "But someone might—"

" _Don't_."

Billy kissed him harder than ever, grinding down against Joey almost to the point of pain. Fast and defiant, this pace, but still loving, _always_ loving—that hadn't changed, Joey knew, and of course it wouldn't, it _never_ would. He found that he could pull his mouth away just long enough to groan Billy's name with more feeling than he'd trust to dorm walls or to his own bedroom walls while his father slept on the same floor, and Billy seemed to find that highly encouraging. 

"God, I love your voice," Billy gasped, slowing his pace even as he angled his hips closer still, tugging Joey's legs up with long caresses from hip to knee. "More, Joey. _Louder_."

Joey sucked his breath in and wrapped his legs tightly around Billy. He was dizzy again, and all too aware of how close... " _Ah!_ " Billy was kissing his neck again, attacking the opposite side with no reservations about using tongue and teeth whatsoever. Joey would have marks in the morning, he was sure of it, but he was also sure that it didn't matter as much as Billy's body driving against him, Billy's kisses and murmurs winding him up like a fucking watch spring—

"Billy—ah, _donstopthat_ — _Billy!_ " Joey abruptly bit his tongue. _Shit_ , if anyone had come upstairs...

"Don't stop." Billy moaned against Joey's ear, fisting his hands at Joey's shoulders. "And, for your information, I'd _never_..."

 _You're so fucking close_ , Joey thought, tightening his hold on Billy. He thrust up harder, letting go of a whimper. 

"Don't hide it," Billy whispered again. Soft, urgent, broken. He clutched at Joey's shoulders, trembling, already falling apart.

Joey closed his eyes on the sight, the thought. The feel of their bodies, sweat-slick and inseparable, on _this_. The sense of endless vertigo as he pitched over that edge and _into_ Billy—yes, _this_ — 

"Oh God. I _love_ you."

Joey might have heard himself if it weren't for his own name shattered sweet and clear against his cheek, his neck, his ear. Billy cried and shook with him, wouldn't ever leave him behind, not even in wanting to hear, in _this_. Joey drew a choked breath and sobbed Billy's name again and again. There weren't words for...for... He let his head hit the mattress and lay there gasping and shaking. No _way_ someone hadn't heard them, but what did it matter when this was Billy in his arms, _his_ Billy, graceful and fearless and _gorgeous_ like Joey never—

"Oh, Joey. No tears," Billy whispered. "You're always beautiful to me, don't think you're not."

Joey opened his eyes, finding his vision severely blurred. "I just...I felt stupid about..." Joey struggled for words. "I always thought I'd be better off if I could just hide—" _Silence, fucking silence_. _Was it really worth anything?_

"I never asked you to, Joey-love." Billy's arms were tight around him, his lips gentle against Joey's mouth.

 _I know_ , Joey thought, and kissed him till the words he found were right.

"Thank you."


	11. What It Takes

Billy pushed Joey's stack of books out of the way and leaned over the desk. "You've been working on that since this morning."

"No shit," Joey sighed, eyeing his hand-written page critically. "Oger is a sadistic bastard. It's due on Wednesday."

Billy frowned. "When was it assigned?"

Joey looked up at him, incredulous. "Friday. You mean to tell me that you missed a fucking paper assignment? I'm not gonna write this one for you."

"I have a hard time paying attention when you're sitting in front of me," Billy said, bending down to taste Joey's neck. "I was very—" Billy kissed the spot again and felt Joey squirm "— _very_ distracted."

Joey dropped his pencil, pushing away from the desk as if he meant to knock Billy off his feet. "Look, man, this isn't a joke. Three pages minimum, and he said he's going to knock points off for unclear thesis statements."

Billy stepped back, scrutinizing Joey as he sat there carelessly dressed in a plain black t-shirt and gray athletic pants. Too gorgeous, even when he was trying to look serious. "Did he say what we're supposed to write about?" 

"He wrote a list of five short stories on the board," Joey said with a shrug. "Take your pick."

Billy ran his fingers through his hair. _Jesus, there's no persuading you away from your work, is there?_ "I, um—didn't write 'em down."

Joey sighed and pulled his chair back up to the desk, then flipped hastily through his notebook. He turned the pages back and held it up for Billy to see, then pointed at a small, neatly printed column. "I'm already doing the Lombreglia, so you'd better think twice before picking it."

"Aw, man," Billy protested in earnest. "I actually _liked_ 'Jungle Video'."

"Beggars can't be choosers."

"Fine. There's that twisted shit by whatserface."

"'Those Who Walk Away From Omelas'?" Joey asked, picking the pencil up and tucking it behind his ear. "Seeing as that's the only one that even remotely fits your description."

 _Ready for a break, huh? You lousy faker._ Billy bent over again, touching his lips casually to Joey's hair. "Yeah, I think so. By the chick with the French-sounding last name."

"Le Guin it is," Joey said grimly, picking up his own literary anthology and pressing it into Billy's hands. "You're gonna need help with that." The pencil slipped from behind his ear, falling harmlessly on the floor. Joey didn't pick it up.

"But you already refused to write this one for me," Billy chided, cradling the book nonchalantly. He stood up and headed for the bunk, not bothering to look over his shoulder. _Three, two_ —

Joey's chair creaked forcefully. "Hey, I didn't say I wouldn't _help_ you, dickhead."

Billy ducked and crawled onto his bed, thumping the book down on the pillow. "Then I suggest we get down to business, Mr. Trotta."

Joey was grinning like an idiot, just beautiful. "You think I'm gonna help you with your fucking homework when Phil's not here? Move over."

Billy scooted back and tugged Joey down in front of him, leaning in for a proper kiss. "I'm sure a little foreplay couldn't hurt."

Joey rolled his eyes and pulled back, lingering over Billy's lower lip. "Maybe if the story actually had erotic subtext."

"Hey, you never know. To some pervert—"

"I know better than to think you missed the fucking point," Joey said. He picked up the book and started flipping pages, eyes avid with determination. "Though, if you wanted to build an argument for something like that, it would show a certain level of sophistication—"

"That's yours, not mine," Billy pointed out, snatching the book away from Joey and kissing him again. "But I wouldn't mind building a case for it with my roommate."

Joey laughed and shoved the book at him again. "We're not in a fucking story."

Billy grinned, using the book to push Joey back against the pillow. "You should write it."

"Anything I turn out isn't destined to be high lit, man."

"High enough for me," Billy said. He reached over the side of the bed and dropped the book on the floor. 

Joey jumped. "You're straightening the bent pages."

Billy shrugged and nestled up alongside him, running his fingers up and down Joey's chest. "Small price to pay."

"I was on my way to a serious headache," Joey sighed, closing his eyes with relief.

"I know."

"But you will be, too, if you don't start on that paper tonight."

"Only if you still plan on helping me," Billy reminded Joey, nuzzling his cheek. _I wanted to wake you up like this_.

Joey opened his eyes, reaching up to mess with Billy's hair. "Yeah, yeah. I promise."

"Good," Billy murmured, settling in with a satisfied sigh. "I thought maybe we should celebrate all week, starting right now."

Joey laughed. "If you can figure out a way to swing it, be my guest."

"Unless you think you'll get sick of me by the time Thursday rolls around."

" _Fuck_ , no," Joey said emphatically. He sat up and knocked Billy flat with a kiss, a really _hard_ kiss. "I'd make every day fucking Valentine's Day if that's what it take..."

"No need," Billy reassured him, tugging Joey down on top of himself. "I could arrange something between every set of class periods, if you wanted."

Joey shivered, nuzzling Billy's cheek. "I'm sure you could."

"What do you want, really? I never had anyone to think about before. It was always about those stupid cardboard things and sappy love notes on lined paper that didn't mean shit," Billy said, rubbing Joey's back thoughtfully. "You deserve more than cardboard." 

Joey made a dismissive noise and kissed Billy's forehead. "I've got all I want. Don't you dare go out of your way to pull off some fucking complicated surprise. I'll kick your ass."

"It's obviously not a surprise," Billy pointed out, ruffling Joey's hair, "if I'm _asking_ you what you want. Come on, a guy needs a little input once in a while. Do you like flowers, chocolates...?"

Joey laughed again. "Are you fucking serious? Flowers are great, but where d'you think I'm gonna put them without the guys being all over me about where they came from? At least with chocolates you can eat the evidence."

Billy frowned, stroking Joey's cheek. "What kind? If you're all about that Godiva shit, which I _know_ you are, I'm not quite sure I can manage—"

"Oh, Christ," Joey sighed, the words muffled against Billy's neck. He dabbed his tongue along Billy's collarbone, making him shiver. "Forget about chocolates. I have you. That's enough."

 _No it isn't_ , Billy thought impulsively, his mind racing. _If you're not gonna help me out here, then_ —

"Is it just me, or is that silence a bad sign?"

"'Course not, love," Billy murmured, running his fingers up the back of Joey's shirt, coaxing him down for another kiss.

"We'll think of something," Joey murmured. "Besides, doesn't helping you with your paper count?" He was smirking, Billy could feel it. With that goddamn lovely mouth.

"If you consider studying romantic."

Joey propped himself up on his elbows and kissed Billy's chin. "You bet."

"How about _this_ for a thesis statement?" Billy asked, running his fingers down to the small of Joey's back, creeping them beneath the waistband of his pants. "'Joey Trotta is fucking irresistible'."

Joey shook his head and clucked his tongue. "How? What does it matter? Why should I even _give_ a flying fuck?"

Billy sighed wearily, then plucked at Joey's shirt and started tugging it up and over his head. "Right, right. _Show_ , don't tell..."

* * *

"Please read pages eighty-nine through one-twelve and answer the odd-numbered questions at the end of the chapter," Mr. Smith concluded, writing the assignment in the upper right-hand corner of the board. "Due Wednesday. That will be all. Enjoy your lunch, gentlemen."

"That blows," Snuffy commented to no one in particular, slamming his economics book shut and shouldering his backpack.

"Yeah," Hank agreed, stretching. "Seven questions, none of them multiple choice." A paper football fell out of his lap and skidded across the aisle.

Billy picked it up, then tossed it at the back of Joey's head. "Mmm, did you hear that? More essays."

Joey was still bent over his book, reading through the questions intently. He turned his head and shrugged. "Yeah, so?"

Billy patted him on the shoulder and rattled the back of his chair. "Come on, I'm starving. Anyone remember what's on the menu today?"

The bell chimed at a startling volume. Ric screwed up his face, shoving his textbook into his messenger bag. "Roast beef, or something like that. Whatever it is, I'm not in the mood for it."

Joey closed his book and stood up, giving Billy a bleak look. "Me neither, but what choice have we got?"

"Excuse me," Snuffy cut in, shouldering his bag importantly as he pushed past Hank and Ricardo. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving. I'll see you in the caf."

"Me too," Phil said with a smirk, following Snuffy towards the door. "Good luck with the homework."

"Shut the hell up," Hank called after them, grabbing his own backpack hastily. "I'm right behind you, man."

Billy glanced after them briefly, then turned to watch Joey gathering up his things. He'd been sketching again, hiding his notebook under half of his textbook. Billy grabbed his eraser and dropped it into Joey's backpack just as Joey began to zip it up. Joey looked up at him, half smiling.

"Thanks. I would've forgotten that."

"I know," Billy said, tugging on his arm. "Come on, we're gonna be the last ones out of here."

Joey shrugged into his backpack as the last of their classmates filtered out. "That's all right with me."

Billy watched the door clatter shut, then leaned to give Joey a tentative kiss. "Better?"

Joey kissed him back, unexpectedly casual. "Between classes. Figured I'd contribute."

"Now, let's go, huh?" Billy grinned at him, then shoved him up the aisle.

"Hey, hey, I can _walk_ ," Joey reassured him, laughing all the way.

Ric had been right about the roast beef, though Billy wouldn't have called it that on first glance. He caught Joey mumbling something about missing Rosemary's cooking and smiled, then caught sight of Hank waving them to the far side of the cafeteria. Phil and Snuffy were already halfway finished, and Ric was pushing some mixed greens around with a sour expression on his face. Billy took one of the two remaining seats, tugging the one next to it out casually. Joey sat down without looking at him and immediately attacked his milk carton. Billy grinned around a spoonful of peas. _Learning not to let them see you blush, huh?_

"So," Phil asked no one in particular, "who's got a hot date for Thursday?"

"It's only Monday," Hank said. "I'm not even _thinkin'_ about Thursday yet."

" _You_ don't," Snuffy said, smirking.

"How the fuck would you know, douchebag?" Phil looked about ready to reach across the table and yank Snuffy out of his chair by the collar.

"Guy who hasn't got one always asks."

"Hey, settle down," Hank said to Snuffy, jabbing his fork into his roast beef and leaving it there. "Do _you_ have one, Romeo?"

"For your information, no," Snuffy said nonchalantly, "but at least I'm not trying to hide it. Besides, unlike _some_ guys around here? I know how to have fun going solo, thank you very much."

Ric choked into a sip of his milk. "That's sad, man."

"Hide his magazines," Joey suggested under his breath, picking through his salad.

Hm, that would make a half decent prank. "I'll think about it," Billy murmured back. "Only if you'll help."

"You know it."

Snuffy's eyes flew abruptly to Joey's face. "Know what? Care to share it with the rest of us?"

Joey set his milk down. "Sure," he said calmly. "Was just filling Billy in about how you didn't really have a date last year."

"At least I didn't sit in my fucking room and read," Snuffy shot back.

"Oh, so what did you do, then?" Joey asked, raising his eyebrows. "Take your stack of Playboys out for a night on the town?"

"Hey, that's enough," Billy said, trying not to laugh. "So none of us have a date. Big fucking deal. It's only Valentine's Day."

"Yeah, sure it is." Joey's voice was light, his eyes teasing.

Billy met Joey's glance briefly, taking a bite of his meat. _We'll see about that_.

* * *

"Psst." Billy tossed a bottle cap in the general direction of Joey's desk. "You finished with that yet?" he asked, setting his lit book and page of scattered notes aside. The cap bounced off Joey's knee.

Joey glanced sideways, forehead braced against his right fist while his left hand moved furiously across a fresh page of his notebook. "No," he said pointedly.

Billy got up and marched over, then glanced down at Joey's work. "How many pages is that thing?"

"Four double-sided, plus these few sentences," Joey said, flipping through it, disgusted. Billy caught sight of quotation marks and page citations. He was fleetingly jealous. "How's yours going?"

"I have a couple more paragraphs to read. I'm taking notes," Billy said, which was true, or at least he was trying. He couldn't focus with Joey almost halfway across the room tying himself up in knots again. It wasn't like Joey to stress over a paper.

"Then finish your notes and I'll take a look," Joey said, eyes flicking back to his paper. "Let me finish this paragraph."

"Giving you trouble?" Billy leaned over and squinted to read Joey's small, precise handwriting: _Despite his conservative bent, Walter warms up to his co-workers' wacky habits. When he and the rest of the Paradise Productions team present a software video to their disgruntled customers, Walter defends the video even though he once condemned it. Walter explains to the most surly and aggressive of the clients why the shots of his company's president are not present: "They were dull.... What did you want, the same boring video everyone else is making? (256)_

"Yeah," Joey muttered, tracing over the closing parenthesis several times.

 _Jesus fucking Christ, do you have any idea how easy you make this look?_ "Seems like you're doing fine," Billy said.

Joey pursed his lips briefly. "I have two more paragraphs to go."

"Your idea of a paragraph is a hell of a lot longer than mine." Billy wondered if he'd managed to hide his unaccustomed feeling of envy. _Fuck_.

"Let's take a look at yours," Joey sighed. "Maybe I won't be so blocked if I don't think about it for a while."

"Worked last time," Billy said.

"Would you two shut up?" Phil complained, shifting around on his bed till he sprawled flat across the pillow with his ecnomics book in front of him. "I'm trying to read."

"And we're trying to write," Billy replied, following Joey over to his bed.

"Last I knew, it didn't take a lot of talking."

"Phil, relax. He'll shut up if I help him." Joey's grin was apologetic.

Phil got up suddenly and went to rummage in one of his drawers. He made a big show of removing his tape player and headphones, and in a minute flat he was sprawled out on his bed with the book again. Something that sounded remotely like Pink Floyd drifted across the room.

"That's one way of taking care of the problem," Billy sighed, pulling his legs up Indian-style.

Joey transferred the lit book to Billy's lap, then picked up Billy's piece of paper and studied it. "Guess what, fucker?" he said after about forty seconds. "You have a thesis here."

The clenching in Billy's stomach lessened. "Excuse me?"

Joey thrust the page at him, eyes blazing. "Find it."

"Joey, how am I supposed to know—"

"You'll have to condense it into one sentence, but it's there. Does that help?"

Billy glanced down at the paper, eyes drifting through the mess that he'd written down. "No," he said truthfully, his stomach twisting again.

Joey sighed and snatched the paper back, then tugged a pencil from behind his ear and swiftly drew a set of brackets, setting off three or four sentences. "Summarize that."

Billy snatched the paper back. "Okay, here goes." He skimmed the sentences and gave Joey a dubious look. "The narrator's basically saying that it would be fucking impossible to create a perfect society."

"Exactly," Joey said, something in his eyes making Billy's discomfort evaporate. "But you'll have to come up with at least three supports and cut the 'fucking'."

Billy felt like shouting, but he just grinned at Joey instead. "It would be a shame to waste it."

"Save it for later," Joey suggested, trying too hard not to smile.

"Do you think it'll keep till Thursday?"

Joey's brow furrowed. "Yeah," he replied, lowering his voice, "but when the hell will we get the chance? None of the guys are going out, remember?"

Billy thought for a minute, then caught Joey's wrist without thinking. "I got it."

Joey tensed. "You sure?"

"Absolutely," Billy said without hesitation. 

He felt Joey relax in his grip. "Okay. But give me twenty-four hours' notice."

"Aw, where's the fun in that?"

"Where's the fun in getting our asses caught?" Joey countered.

"Hey, what makes you so sure—"

"You know when you get that look in your eyes?" Joey asked, pointing soberly at Billy's nose.

Billy suddenly felt naked under Joey's gaze, and not in the good, usual kind of way. "Um, no?"

"When you've decided you're going to skip class."

 _Fucking hell!_ "Would you do it?" he asked, almost pleading.

"Which class?" Joey asked warily.

Billy's gut twisted again, only this time it was guilt. "All of them."

Joey actually let out a whoop of laughter. "Oh, sure! And just where do you plan on _taking_ us? Off campus without a permit and we're toast, man."

"I know that," Billy said, frustrated. "I wasn't thinking off campus."

"You weren't _thinking_."

Billy crumpled his paper in frustration. "You have a better idea?"

Joey's hard look softened, and he twisted his hand free of Billy's grasp, but not without brushing the back of his hand. "No."

"Then would you?" Billy asked softly. "Just this once?"

"If you can come up with something that won't get us worse than a week of detention or possibly probation, you bet."

 _Probation? Joey Trotta would risk probation?_ "Fuck," Billy sighed, smoothing his paper out. "You're right, we don't _have_ to—"

"No, I want to." Joey's eyes were fierce, earnest.

"I'll think of something," Billy promised.

"Think about your thesis first. That's part of the deal, you know." Joey was grinning as he got up and stretched.

Billy sat back and watched him, letting his eyes sweep from Joey's bare ankles to the flex of his shoulders. "I figured there was a catch."

* * *

Billy woke to the sound of Joey's breathing. High, shallow, suspiciously quick—well, _fuck!_ What time was it? Billy glanced out the window, squinting at the mostly-dark sky. His first impulse was to get up and climb the ladder, but that would probably wake Phil. Billy sat up quietly, straining his eyes to catch the red flicker of Phil's alarm clock. Six twenty-eight. Billy froze and listened, but Joey knew he was awake now. Probably holding his breath, waiting for Billy to fall asleep again. Billy sighed and slipped cautiously out of bed, then grabbed the side of Joey's bunk and stepped carefully onto the mattress ledge of his own. He was a bit higher than level with Joey's pillow.

"Hey," Billy whispered. _I'm not gonna leave you like this, just so you know_.

Joey's eyes were wide in the semidarkness, catching glints reflected from somewhere on the far wall. "Sorry. Didn't mean to—"

Billy silenced Joey with a kiss, feeling him choke off a whimper at the press of Billy's lips. Billy held onto the sideboard with one hand and let his other slip under the covers, stroking down Joey's chest. His t-shirt was faintly damp, and his heartbeat raced. Joey caught Billy's wrist against his stomach, shivering.

"I'll wake Phil if you do." Damn, it hurt to see his eyes like that. _Wanting_.

Billy made up his mind in a split second. "You too tired to get up?"

"No, why?"

"You were up awfully late with those questions," Billy said, kissing the corner of Joey's mouth lightly.

"What are you thinking?"

"Shower," Billy breathed against Joey's cheek, then hopped down from his perch silently. He heard Joey's breath catch, then waited by the closet door till the ladder stopped creaking. He grabbed his own towel off the nearest doorknob, waiting for Joey to finish fishing in the dark with that deadly accurate touch of his. 

"Got it," Joey whispered. There was something bulky and pale in his arms.

Billy turned for the door without answering and heard Joey follow. They were in the darkened hall in a matter of seconds, and as predicted, no one else was up and about. Classes didn't start till eight. Billy gave Joey a closer look. He really did look tired, but the tension in him was as taut as a piano wire, and he'd let the towel flip open to dangle over his arm and almost to the floor. He smiled apprehensively, then gave Billy's arm a nudge with the bottle of shampoo clutched in his other hand.

"I hate to remind you, but we're on a schedule here."

"Relax, we have an hour," Billy said, letting Joey nudge him up the hall.

"Wish we had more."

 _Me too, Joey_. "Come on..."

There were a few single-stall showers with curtains that didn't get used as often as the large chamber, and Billy fully intended to take advantage of one of them. Joey dumped his towel beside Billy's on the tiled ledge and shivered into Billy's embrace, his mouth open and wet, demanding as Billy let his arms slide low to encircle Joey's hips. Joey answered the press of Billy's thigh between his legs with a sharp burst of breath, then squirmed away to rid himself of his t-shirt. Billy snatched it away from him at the last moment, drinking in the sight of Joey's messy hair and his sweat-damp skin.

"'Morning, beautiful," he said, dropping Joey's shirt on the tile, and his own followed a split second later. He had an armful of Joey before he could tend to his boxers.

"Is it just me," Joey asked between soft, feverish kisses, "or is this week gonna be hell?"

"Of course it isn't," Billy reassured him, kissing his way from Joey's collarbone to his shoulder and slipping his hands carefully inside Joey's boxers. "We're gonna make it work."

"Can't do it here, Billy," Joey warned him, then sagged against the touch of Billy's fingers.

"No, but we can do this," Billy reassured him, letting go of Joey long enough to ease his boxers down off his hips. 

"Yeah," Joey whispered. His eyes were closed tight, brows knit as he struggled for control.

Billy stuck his hand out to check the water, then helped Joey out of his underwear. They were stifling laughter by then; Joey was unwilling to let go of Billy in order to let him remove his own boxers, which meant quite a bit of awkward maneuvering and finally tripping somewhat painfully into each other. Joey was smiling, though, and breathing a little easier. Billy caught him around the waist and kissed his chin.

"Water's getting hot," he murmured.

"Yeah, well so am I, thank you very m— _aaah!_ Gee, thanks, knock me over..."

Joey's voice faded into a moan under the steaming jet that flooded their eyes and soaked their hair. Billy pulled Joey close again and tasted the water on his lips before it yielded to the velvet warmth of his tongue, the familiar contours of his teeth. Billy swayed and held Joey tightly, catching his balance against the shower wall. Joey leaned back against it, pulling Billy along with him—long fingers sliding carelessly from his shoulders down to the backs of his thighs, Joey turning his head and kissing Billy's hand braced flat against the tile. Joey's fingers glided back up to his hips, tugging until Billy lurched forward. Joey was pinned, their bellies pressed flush.

"Oh, God," Billy groaned, shivering with the wet heat and the closeness of Joey's body. "Should do this more often."

"You're telling me you'd get up that early on a regular basis?" Joey's eyes were glazed. Billy wondered how he could even string a sentence together.

"Maybe not every morning," Billy said, pressing against Joey tentatively. _Mmm_. "Might talk me into—"

"Oh, feels good," Joey was whispering. Billy shut up and thrusted again, this time drawing a choked plea. "Don't stop."

Billy's head was swimming, but he managed to slip an arm behind Joey's back as he arched and squirmed in tighter, closer. Their cocks touched now, and he'd missed this too much, Joey begging and writhing and _coming_ under him and _fuck_ Joey's legs had given out completely and he was going to fall or bruise Billy's arms to hell and back if Billy didn't—

"Okay, it's okay," Billy gasped, staggering with Joey's trembling dead-weight in his arms. "Joey, _Joey_..."

Joey panted and shook, eyes closed tight against the onslaught of water, trying to catch his breath. Billy let them fall in a tangled heap against the floor of the shower, stroking Joey's plastered hair away from his forehead and kissing the droplets along his jaw. Almost too much, this, if it hadn't been for the shock of Joey falling—lightning swift and lost, locking onto Billy's arms as if his entire world had tilted on its axis. Billy couldn't blame him; _his_ had. Every single fucking time.

Joey's eyes flew open, golden-flecked under the artificial light and the cloudiness of steam. "Hey, didn't mean to knock us on our asses," he managed, smiling wryly. " _Whew!_ "

"You're telling me." Billy gasped, drawing in his breath at Joey's fingers brushing over the ache of his arousal. "Joey..."

"Sit down, and shut up," Joey murmured, tugging him in close enough to take a playful nip at his ear.

Billy rocked backwards and obeyed. Joey launched himself forward with improbable strength, leaning over Billy on hands and knees just long enough to kiss him breathless. _Oh, Jesus_. _This_. Joey's lips along his jaw, caressing the curve of his throat slick with water and strangled shouts. Joey's teeth at his breastbone, unexpected and awkward, startling a burst of laughter from him. Fingers at his nipples, circling. Mouth drifting impossibly low, lithe body bent forward in a graceful arc, silken, sopping hair brushing his abdomen _oh fuck_ —

"Joey!"

"Shhh." Muffled, wet. Billy flinched at the vibration of Joey's lips still closed around him.

Billy blinked, waiting for the spots in his vision to clear. "Joey—"

"Quick, now," Joey said against his mouth, crawling away in a flash of pale, golden skin. Billy squinted through the waterfall in front of him. Joey interrupted its inevitable fall, grinning, holding out a palm full of something that went smack on top of Billy's head. "Here."

"You're obsessed," Billy informed him, taking a deep breath.

Joey wiggled closer and started scrubbing with both hands. "You love it."

"No, I love _you_." Of all the fucking ridiculous turnabout...

"Save it for Thursday," Joey said, and winked.

* * *

"Monsieur Tepper?"

"Je ne sais pas," Billy answered curtly.

Professor Lavelle switched to English, his Québecois accent overpowering as usual. "You do not know something I said five minutes ago? This is crazy. We will see if—Monsieur Donoghue?" 

"La repônse correcte est 'Mont Saint-Michel'," Phil said steadily.

 _Joey's still gonna kick your ass in the competition_ , Billy thought sourly. Fuck, he couldn't concentrate. Joey was at the other end of the building in art class, and he kept falling asleep. Who gave a shit about French history, anyway? Last time he had checked, this was a language class.

"Vous avez raison. Et où se trouve le Mont? Monsieur Tepper?" Professor Lavelle was looking straight at him.

Billy sat up straight. "Devant la Tour Eiffel—"

"Vous avez tort, Monsieur Tepper," Professor Lavelle said, frowning fiercely.

"—si vous allez assez...eh, je ne sais pas combien de kilomètres vers la côte. Je suck at les maths."

About half the class burst out laughing. Professor Lavelle looked about ready to explode, but he said nothing and moved on to the next question as if nothing had happened. What could he fucking do? Billy smirked and returned Snuffy's high five across the aisle. His answer was technically correct. _In front of the Eiffel Tower—if you go about...oh, I don't know how many kilometers towards the coast_. Billy found himself wishing he could've made Joey smile with it. He was the main reason that Billy wasn't _failing_ math.

Just as he suspected, he was off the hook for the rest of the period. Whether it was because he'd given a smartass answer or a _correct_ smartass answer, Billy couldn't be sure, but in any case le professeur left him alone and he managed to doze for a bit until Snuffy kicked his ankle and whispered, "Ecoutez, vous âne!"

Billy started awake, then glared at Snuffy. "'Asshole' vous-même!" he snapped, glancing idly at the clock—ah, _nice_. Class would be over in two minutes. He could afford to focus on Lavelle for that long. Maybe.

"C'est tout pour aujourd'hui," the professor said. "Votre examen est jeudi."

 _Thursday? A test?_ "Well, shit," Billy hissed under his breath, slamming his notebook shut.

"En français," Snuffy taunted.

"Tais-toi, fucker."

* * *

"Hey, when you going to dinner?" Billy asked, kicking a soccer ball carelessly around the room. _Dammit, Joey, did art run overtime or something?_

"I'm not," Phil answered. He thumped a stack of books next to his pillow, then waved a small paperback in the air. "Swamped."

"So am I, but that's no reason not to eat. Has Joey been here?"

"Nope." Phil rolled onto his side with the book, facing the wall.

"Are the others going?" Billy kicked the ball neatly into the closet.

"Hell if I know. Snuffy's still mad at you."

Billy rolled his eyes. "Oh, _please_. Just because Mr. Drama Queen can't take an insult that he doesn't fucking understand. You do realize I just told him to shut up, right?"

"Yeah, but you also called him a fucker. In English. You sounded kind of pissed."

"I wasn't pissed at _him_ ," Billy blurted before he realized what he was saying.

"Billy, you're mad at every fucking professor on this campus. Grow up."

"How could he schedule a test on Valentine's Day?" Billy asked incredulously. "I thought the French understood that shit."

"Yeah, well, I think it's been a while since his part of Canada was part of France." Phil sounded kind of annoyed.

"Joyeux Saint-Valentin. Hah," Billy muttered, shuffling over to his bed.

"Why the didn't you register for the competition?" Phil asked, looking over his shoulder.

 _Because Joey's going to win_. "Because I don't give a shit."

"Let me tell you something—if you _did_ give a shit? I wouldn't have wasted the paper."

"Hey, guys." Joey was hanging in the open doorway, his shirt and jeans entirely smudged with charcoal.

"You're going to get that shit all over," Phil complained.

"No, I won't," Joey said with a shrug, kicking the door closed behind him as he peeled out of his shirt and tossed it in the corner. "I'm starving," he said, looking straight at Billy. "Dinner?"

"Sure," Billy answered, standing up and wishing his stomach would stop closing in on itself. "Phil's not going. Too much homework."

"Yeah, me too," Joey said, tripping out of his Chucks and tossing them in the closet. "So, let's make it fast. I really don't feel like waiting on Snuffy and Hank today."

"What about Ricardo?" Phil asked, only half serious.

"He'll live," Billy said, watching Joey pull a fresh pair of jeans out of his drawer. He slipped into them and dashed over to the closet, fastening them one-handed. "I hear it's better than yesterday's lunch. Tacos."

"Good," Joey said, his voice muffled by a long-sleeved gray shirt with a band logo that Billy didn't recognize. He yanked it over his head and blew his hair out of his eyes, checking to make sure he hadn't knocked his earring out. "Was afraid I'd have to deal with leftovers making me sick." He smiled at Billy when he realized Phil was busy reading again. "Let's go? Uh, wait..." He whirled back to the closet, scanning the floor with a worried expression.

Billy stooped to tug Joey's Docs out from under the bed. "Looking for these?"

"Yeah." Joey stood up with a sigh of relief, taking the boots from Billy and slipping into them. "Let's go," he said, not even bothering to tie them.

"Hey, I heard you about gave Lavelle an apoplexy," Joey said when they reached the corridor.

Billy jumped the last few stairs and held the door, staring in amazement. "How _do_ you find out about this shit?"

"You don't realize how many fans you have, huh?" Joey crossed the threshold, then reached back to hold the door for Billy.

"Only one that I care about," he said, shooing Joey out of the way and letting it slam behind them.

They took the end of a table not too far from where the gang usually sat. Joey frowned at his tacos critically, finally deciding to spoon out all of the meat and substitute the lettuce, cheese, tomatoes, and salsa he'd grabbed on the side. Billy sprinkled cheese on his own and watched the entire operation, amused.

"That bad, huh?" 

"Why can't they ever do chicken?" Joey complained to one of his altered tacos before taking a messy bite.

"Not popular enough," Billy said with a shrug, taking a bite of one of his own. _Ugh_. Maybe Joey had a point. Things didn't bode well for his stomach, especially given what was on his mind. How the _fuck_ was he supposed to tell Joey about the goddamn French test? Unless he already knew about that, too.

"So, happier stuff," Joey said after a swallow of grape juice. "Have you worked anything out?"

Billy set his taco down and swallowed. "Well, as of this morning, I kind of thought that smuggling some food down to the cellar on Wednesday night might be a good idea, seeing as we'd have to sneak in before the caf opened Thursday morning..."

Joey made a patient gesture with his spoonful of fruit coctail, eyes hopeful. "And...?"

Billy couldn't take it. "And Lavelle scheduled a fucking exam for Thursday. But I swear, I really don't care, I can just—"

"You are _not_ skipping an exam," Joey said firmly.

 _Fuck_. Billy knew this would happen. "It's my fucking grade."

"Your fucking grade, for your information, can't afford a zero on an exam." Joey looked disappointed, but more than anything, he looked furious.

Billy raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Look, since when were you...okay, stupid question. Joey, don't look at me like that. Forget it. If it'll make you happy, I'll take the fucking test. But what am I supposed to do now, huh?"

"Billy, it's not like you were obligated," Joey pointed out, setting his spoon down forcefully. He'd forgotten about the fruit, and it splashed all through the silverware compartment of his tray.

"Yes, it was," Billy insisted, holding Joey's gaze with determination. "You wanted to, and I—" Billy lowered his voice. "I want it to be a fucking break from all of this, something special, d'you understand? I'll feel like the world's worst...well, I'll feel pretty fucking bad if I don't figure something out," he said quietly, glancing from side to side.

Joey's eyes had softened. "Billy, don't you get it? It's not like...it's not like I'm not happy," he said seriously, his eyes so warm and reassuring that it filled Billy from head to toe. "Look, I wanted to ask you something. I found out there's a bus into the city on Saturday."

Billy sat back, tapping his chin with his spoon. "You want to do that instead?"

"It would be nice if I could drag your ass around Cambridge for a day, yes," Joey said with a wry grin. "And we wouldn't have to worry about it being illegal, either."

"Hey, if that's what you want." _Goddamit, Joey! Our first Valentine's Day, and it's gonna be ruined by—_

Joey glanced down at his hands. "My art project's due Thursday. Counts as part of the midterm."

"Shit," Billy sighed. "I guess..."

Joey looked up and his hand flew across the table, stopping just short of Billy's arm. "Hey," he said. "It's not a matter of life and death. We'll work around it."

"You'll be down there again after class tomorrow, won't you?"

"Thursday, too, probably. As long as it's turned in by five."

"Fuck, there's still the paper," Billy muttered, slamming his fist against the table.

Joey's hand moved again, this time to grab his wrist. "So, we'll study French tomorrow night...and finish the papers Thursday."

Billy looked up at him. "You don't have to study French."

"So fucking what? You focus when you have someone to study with."

Billy twisted free of Joey's grasp and took his hand. "When I have _you_ to study with."

"Oh, get out of here," Joey murmured, glancing away and tugging his hand free.

Billy sighed and looked at him till his eyes wandered back. "Joey."

"What?" He didn't blink, but he was smiling again. Almost.

"That's what," Billy said softly, and touched his own fingers to his lips.

Joey did the same, grinning against his charcoal-smudged fingertips.

* * *

Phil's alarm clock jarred Billy out of sleep. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, then rolled over to squint through the darkness. Quarter till seven. Waking up to Joey again would've been one thing, but this was ridiculous.

"Asshole, turn that thing off." Joey's voice, sharp and irritated.

Phil was already out of bed and rustling around the room, ignoring them. Fucker. Couldn't he just wait to go jogging in the afternoon with the rest of them? Billy pulled the covers up over his head and muttered, "So much for getting my seven hours."

"Screw you," Phil said. There was a forceful _thwack_ , and the alarm clock fell silent. He was out the door before Billy could ask him what the hell was wrong.

"Revenge," Joey said flatly.

Billy threw the covers down, staring at the bottom of Joey's bunk. "You think?"

"Yeah," Joey muttered, and Billy heard his covers rustle. "I bet he was awake the whole time yesterday."

"This triple situation is fucking inconvenient." Billy sat up and watched Joey's shape jump down from the ladder.

"I kind of feel bad," Joey said, slipping into bed beside him. "He's the third wheel, and he knows it."

"He's also our friend," Billy pointed out, trying not to sound sarcastic as Joey settled in his arms. "He could, y'know, be grateful we keep it private."

Joey ducked his head against Billy's shoulder. "I think he's jealous."

"What?" Billy frowned and ran his fingers through Joey's hair. _If for any fucking reason Phil has an eye on you, he's got a black one coming_. _With something a hell of a lot worse than a soccer ball_.

Joey kissed Billy's shoulder, shrugging. "I was thinking—just because he's straight, that doesn't mean we don't make him wish he had somebody."

Relieved laughter welled up in Billy's throat before he could stop it. Joey pushed up to brace himself on one elbow, looking at him.

"What's so funny? It's not like _we've_ never been lonely before."

"I'm sorry, it's just..." Billy covered his eyes with his hand and laughed till he couldn't anymore.

Joey pinched his side playfully. "Well, what the fuck would you call this, huh?"

Billy took a deep breath and uncovered his eyes, then gave Joey a long, considering look, trying not to laugh again. "I don't know about you," he said with a perfectly straight face, "but I think I'm Joey-sexual."

Joey managed to stare at him for two seconds before breaking into a helpless grin. "You insensitive fuck."

"Hey, Ric's a nice guy," Billy pointed out, tugging Joey back into his arms. "Maybe Phil should open his eyes just a little bit wider."

"Wishful thinking," Joey murmured, opening his mouth for a kiss. "Mmm."

"What about you?" Billy asked finally, massaging Joey's back.

"Me?" Joey asked, stifling a huge yawn against Billy's cheek. "I'm fucking _tired_."

* * *

"No homework for Friday," Mr. Smith promised, "but take a look at the charts on pages one-fourteen and one-fifteen, and make sure you understand the information presented. I'll be asking questions. Speaking of which, pass your homework forward, then you may go."

Billy tapped Joey on the shoulder with his paper, waiting for him to grab it. Joey snatched it between two fingers, and Billy sat back to await the verdict of Joey's inevitable perusal. Joey made a half-choked sound, then turned around.

"You did the _even_ numbers."

Billy shrugged. "I knew more of the even answers."

Joey rolled his eyes and handed their papers up to Ricardo. "I hope he gives you credit."

"Why wouldn't he?" Snuffy asked smugly from across the aisle. "At this point in the semester, it's a wonder Billy's even _doing_ his homework."

"Hey, easy," Joey warned him.

"It sure hasn't done anything for my concentration," Phil muttered from behind.

"Oh, so who's the yap-man during our trig sessions, huh?" Ric asked, raising his eyebrows at Phil.

"Hey, I don't understand that shit," Phil protested, jumping a little as the bell rang.

"You can't tell me Billy doesn't understand _anything_ ," Snuffy said, smirking.

"Okay, you know what?" Joey said, standing up. "It's time for lunch.

Billy stood up, too. "I'll second that, let's go."

"I'm not going," Phil announced. "Quiz next period."

Billy saw Joey's head turn at the same time his own did. 

"Quiz?" Their voices lined up perfectly.

"Yeah, or were you two too busy—"

"Eat fast, study faster," Joey said. "I'm out of here."

"Decent plan," Billy said to the rest of them, then followed Joey to the door. He blew up the second they hit the hallway.

"If this week gets _any_ more fucking hectic, I'll—"

"You'll stop right there, or I'll be dragging you back to the room till you cool off," Billy warned, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Phil would just love that." At least Joey had a sense of humor about it.

"History. That's a piece of cake for you," Billy reassured him, squeezing his shoulder briefly before letting go.

"Yeah, well I'm just a little more concerned about—"

"Don't worry about me for once, okay?" Billy challenged. "Besides, I might've skimmed the reading. Don't remember."

Joey let his breath out. "Congrats. You might have a chance in hell."

* * *

Billy stared at the underside of Joey's bunk, tapping his fingers idly across the piece of paper resting on his chest. Notes, check. Thesis statement, check. Three supports—um, _maybe_ check. Joey? Now, that was a problem. He hadn't come back from the art room yet. Billy kept drumming against the paper, hoping that he'd actually gotten somewhere.

He glanced across the room and saw Phil sprawled across his bed with his trig book open and a sour look on his face. Heh. Served him right. Of all the petty things Phil could do to vent, sulking was the least productive of them. Billy might've laughed out loud if his notebook had ended up switched with Joey's, or something like that. Fuck, he would've been _glad_. Anything but this stupid gradeschool shit.

Billy closed his eyes and sighed, shifting to get comfortable. Joey wasn't the only one nearing exhaustion; in fact, Billy was pretty sure that Joey was _responsible_ for at least a fraction of his own fatigue. Not that he blamed Joey or anything, but man, worrying about what to do about Thursday on top of all those fucking assignments, what when all Joey could think of _was_ the assignments? Not the easiest thing in the world. Skipping class was out, fine. He could still figure out a way to get his hands on a rose or two and leave them in Joey's backpack when he wasn't looking, or something like that. Billy shifted onto his side, letting the paper drift onto the sheets. The problem was getting Joey alone for long enough to love him like he deserved. On fucking _Valentine's_ Day. Billy covered his head with the pillow and sighed, closing his heavy eyelids.

"Hey." Phil's voice, a careful punch between his shoulderblades.

Billy snapped awake. "Huh?"

"Wanna go out for a walk? Snuffy was talking about a snowball fight at lunch."

Billy closed his eyes and shook his head, yawning. "Too tired. Maybe next time."

"Fine. Ask Joey when he gets here?" Phil sounded disappointed.

Billy opened his eyes. "I will."

"If you've gotta work on those papers, though, I understand." This time, Phil sounded sorry. "Good luck."

"Thanks." Billy closed his eyes again, drifting. Minutes or hours might've passed by the time he felt an arm reach over him silently, followed by the soft crinkle of paper. A beat of silence.

"This is good," Joey said softly.

Billy shoved the pillow away and rolled over, opening his eyes. "You think so?"

"Yeah," Joey said, sitting down beside him on the mattress. "If you write half after the French tonight and half tomorrow night, you should be fine."

Billy sighed and tugged on Joey's arm. "There are things I'd rather be doing tomorrow night, Joey."

Joey set the paper down on the comforter and leaned over Billy's midsection, braced up on his elbow. "I know," he said, his tone filled with regret. "Didn't I call it, though?" He had charcoal smudges on his right cheek.

"Excuse me?" Billy frowned, confused, reaching up to rub at the marks.

"In the shower. Fucking _hell_ , man. I told you. I could fall asleep this instant and sleep till Sunday." Joey closed his eyes, enjoying Billy's touch, but there were dark rings under them.

Billy tugged at his arm. "C'mere."

"No," Joey said, starting to pull away. "I'll get this stuff all over."

Billy sat up. "Go change into something more comfortable. Unless you're going somewhere?"

"Nowhere." Billy's heart clenched at the sound of Joey's voice. So _weary_. Billy watched him strip out of his jeans and sweatshirt, fighting the impulse to get up and carry him over to bed.

Joey finally stumbled over and sat down beside him, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. God, he looked like he couldn't keep his eyes open. "Got your French book?"

"Time out," Billy said, tugging Joey up onto the bed despite his mild protest. "Just relax for a minute. Studying's not going anywhere."

"No kidding," Joey sighed, but he turned and slipped an arm around Billy, yawning against his hair.

"We should rest for a bit. I don't think Phil will be out walking for that much longer."

"I guess so," Joey agreed, laying down and tugging Billy after him. "If I fall asleep, wake me in twenty minutes. Got it?"

"Yeah," Billy murmured, smoothing Joey's hair back and settling down beside him. "Close your eyes."

It didn't take long. Joey was asleep in minutes, breathing peacefully in the crook of Billy's arm. Billy sighed and closed his eyes, too, but he didn't let himself doze off. He really did have to look at that French, but he sure as hell wasn't going to wake Joey. He opened his eyes again and studied Joey's familiar features. He didn't get to watch Joey sleep often enough.

At length, Billy sighed and sat up reluctantly, then fished around on the floor for his French book. Chapter five, wasn't it? All of those stupid historical and geographical tidbits, right. Like he _gave_ a care about Bastille Day. Le quatorze juillet, whatever. Billy flipped the book open and started to skim the first page of the chapter, only to find that he couldn't concentrate. His eyes kept stealing back to Joey's face. In a sudden flash of insiration, Billy sidled up behind Joey carefully and slipped an arm around him. He settled the book just above Joey's head, off to the side of the pillow, standing it up. _There_. Billy started to read again and found the going much easier with Joey's body warm against him and his hair just a brief nuzzle away.

Billy managed not to jump when the door opened. For a long moment, he returned Phil's scrutinizing gaze, saying nothing as Phil slowly unwound his scarf and let it drop on the floor. After a minute, Billy opened his mouth to say that he could—

"Don't wake him," Phil whispered, waving his hand irrelevantly as he turned to shrug out of his coat. "He's beat."

Billy found his breath again, watching Phil hang his coat up as if nothing had happened. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Phil kicked his boots off. He went over to his own bed and picked up his trig book as if he came home to this kind of thing every single...

Billy glanced at Joey to make sure he hadn't awakened, then continued reading. _He's okay, love_. _You can stop worrying about him, too_.

* * *

"Hey, Billy!"

Joey's voice, coming from somewhere through the milling traffic behind him. Billy paused just before Professor Lavelle's classroom, hugging the wall. That was how they found each other, usually, even if they'd just parted ways. He caught sight of Joey pushing his way through a group of slowpoke freshmen. Billy waved at him.

"Over here."

"Forgot something," Joey panted, finally slipping up beside him. "Verb for _peur_. How to say you're afraid?"

Billy started without thinking, "Je suis—"

"No, no. It's _avoir_ ," Joey cautioned him. "To _have_ fear. Got it?"

Billy shook his head. "Of all the shit I could get wrong—" 

Billy paused, leaning closer to Joey. Roses, he smelled the roses. He'd slipped two red ones into Joey's backpack before lunch (he would never have thought that one day he'd be skipping fifth period for a flower shop run, that's for sure). He snagged his index finger in Joey's breast pocket casually, taking a glance. Red petals, not quite a handful.

"Where's Mont Saint-Michel?" Joey asked, smirking as Billy let go of him.

"On the coast. Du nord."

"Good, good," Joey sighed, relieved. He raised a fist, waiting for Billy to do the same. Hit, grip. "Good luck, man," he said softly, letting go of Billy's fingers with deliberate slowness. Snap. _I'll be thinking about you_.

"Your project almost done?" Billy asked.

"Almost," Joey said. "I'll definitely be staying late again, even if I work on it solid through this period."

"Good luck." _And I'll be thinking of you_.

"'Later," Joey said, turning around. He was gone again.

Billy sighed and went into the classroom, finding that he was one of the last to arrive. Lavelle was already handing the quiz sheets out, and he frowned sharp disapproval in Billy's direction. The bell rang seconds after Billy slid into his seat. Close one.

"You may leave when you finish. It is two pages, both sides. Vocabulary, geography and history. Nothing that I have not talked about in class." Lavelle looked at Billy before moving on. "That is all. Joyeux Saint-Valentin."

 _Yeah right_ , Billy thought, fishing his pencil out of his pocket. Lavelle got mad if you dated things American-style, so Billy made a point of doing so. The first page wasn't actually all that bad—the vocab fill-in-the-blanks section was only worth ten points, and sure enough, _avoir peur_ was called for. Then five multiple choice, then some write-your-own-sentences shit. Time to make Lavelle _really_ red in the face...

The last page took a bit longer. Lavelle had written out all of the questions in French, and the phrasing was a lot trickier than what he had used asking them aloud in class. Billy was pretty sure he'd mixed up two of the more obscure landmarks by the time he finished, but that didn't matter. He'd pull through with a ninety or so, and Joey would be thrilled.

Billy walked his paper up to Lavelle's desk, scanning the room. About a third of the students were already gone. He set it down in front of the old professor's fingertips and paused for a minute. _Here comes_...

"La date, Monsieur Tepper?" Those cold blue eyes behind the wire-rimmed spectacles were a familiar sight.

Billy put on his best apologetic look. "Je ne me souviens pas."

Lavelle made a sound like a bullfrog stifling a croak, then shuffled Billy's paper brusquely into the small stack at the corner of his desk. "C'est minus deux, Monsieur Tepper."

"Cool." Billy was already at the door.

He wandered till he came to the far end of the building, then turned down a small staircase leading to the lower level. The art room was tucked in a sub-level hallway with the metal and wood shops, which resulted in terrible ventilation. Billy remembered Snuffy having to drop art at the start of fall semester just because he couldn't fucking breathe. He stepped up to the closed door and peered through the cross-hatched glass.

He could see a bunch of tables, but they were abandoned scattered with notebooks and textbooks. Everyone had easels of various sizes set up in the aisles. Joey was in the far corner of the room, next to the window, which was about half buried under snow. The paper in front of him was huge, looked pretty abstract—all dark lines and strange angles, shadows that Billy couldn't decipher. Joey was bent over slightly, working at the lower right-hand corner with a piece of charcoal, sleeves rolled back and half falling down. His hair shone in a sliver of winter sunlight, and Billy watched his right hand come up to push some of it out of his eyes. Without warning, he stood up and turned around. A wary glance to either side, then straight ahead. God, that smile.

 _Almost over_. Joey mouthed it slowly, deliberately. 

Billy nodded. He'd been planning on going in when the bell rang, anyway. In the meantime, he was content just to watch. He could almost hear the scratch of Joey's charcoal against the grain of the paper, the soft intake of breath when he tensed over a mistake. The moment of slow deliberation, the determined strokes of correction. This picture had no beginning, and it had no end. It would become whatever the sum of its adjustments dictated. Billy leaned against the doorframe, watching out of the corner of his eye now. Billy thought about the paper draft and realized Joey wrote like that, too. Nothing premeditated. Instead of envy, he felt fierce pride. That was his Joey, his fucking _brilliant_ Joey. He knew exactly what to do.

"How was it?" Joey asked when Billy finally came in, pushing past the handful of students eager to hand in their projects. 

Billy shrugged, studying Joey's handiwork. "Really not bad. I think I did well."

Joey shook his head. "You always say that. Anyway...um, it's not anything. No hidden pictures or shit like that. Just..." He made a useless gesture and turned his head the other way. 

Billy caught his wrist and gave it a good, hard tug. "So? Abstract is abstract, right?"

Joey turned his head reluctantly and looked at the paper. "Yeah, but it's going to need a title, and I have no fucking clue what to call it."

"What do you think about?" Billy asked thoughtfully. "I mean, when you do this."

Joey shrugged. "Different things. For this one, I—" He stopped and shrugged again, holding Billy's gaze for long moments. "I was pretty frustrated. Mind kept wandering."

"Would it be incredibly cheesy of me to suggest 'Frustrated'?" Billy asked wryly.

Joey punched Billy's arm lightly, smiling at his picture for the first time that Billy had seen. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Hey, I was thinking," Billy said. "We should get a study room or something, give Phil some time to himself."

"For this evening?" Joey looked skeptical. "We'd have to sign up now, man. They go fast before Friday exams."

"I'll go see if I can snag us one, if you want. How long will you be here?" Billy gave him a look. _Got it?_

Joey glanced at his watch, then picked at a few fraying threads on one of his bracelets. "Forty-five minutes, ten to change and scrub this shit off."

"I'll be somewhere in the library," Billy promised.

Joey glanced up from his wrist, grinning madly. "Meet you there."

* * *

Billy watched the doors from behind the front stack of shelves until Joey passed through them. Billy watched him inquire at the desk for which study room Billy had reserved, then blinked as he turned around and scanned the tables full of intent students. He looked _nice_ : smudges gone, jeans changed, white collared shirt. Billy ducked back against the rows of dusty books and waited. Deep breath. One, two, three, _four_ —

"Gotcha."

Joey almost tripped, but Billy's grip on his upper arm held him steady. "Jesus, Billy!"

"Shhh." Billy let go of him and fell into step behind him, heading back toward the study rooms. "I got number four."

"They told me. Till seven?" Joey asked hopefully. It was almost six.

"Eight," Billy said.

"Nice." Joey turned his head, half smiling. "Did you remember—"

"Draft and everything. All in here." Billy patted the strap of his backpack and passed Joey, leading the way. "C'mon."

"You worked on it for a bit last night, right?" Joey asked as Billy held the door of the study room for him.

"Yeah. After you fell asleep." Billy locked the door, then pulled the window blind.

Joey watched him and took a deep breath. "Small mercies, huh?"

Billy dropped his backpack on the floor beside Joey's and stepped close to him. "Very fortunate," he agreed, brushing Joey's cheek. 

Joey held Billy's hand there and leaned to kiss him softly. "Gorgeous roses," he murmured. "A little crushed, but gorgeous."

"Maybe if you didn't carry so many books around..." Billy slipped his arms around Joey's waist and breathed in the scent of his skin, his hair. Sweet, faintly damp. Damn, he'd taken a _shower_.

"Maybe if you'd given me fair warning." Joey's lips brushed Billy's neck, making Billy shiver.

"Paper now or later?" Billy whispered. "Your call."

Joey laughed, then caught Billy's mouth in a kiss so fierce that he couldn't breathe. "This first," he said, his voice low and insistent. "I've been waiting all fucking week."

Billy's breath caught, and he slipped his hands down to Joey's waist, untucking his shirt. "Take me any way you want me," he murmured, hooking his finger under Joey's collar before working his buttons free one after another.

Joey trembled a little, laughing at the brush of Billy's fingers down his chest, then caught Billy's hand to his lips and kissed it. "No," he said, his eyes smoky and fixed on Billy's. "Want you to take _me_."

Billy tugged Joey's shirt down and off his shoulders, then tossed it on the table. "You sure? The floor's gonna be uncomfortable."

"So, we do this," Joey said, unbuttoning his jeans as if giving a tutorial. An unspeakably hot one, granted, even when he paused to untie and kick out of his shoes. He stepped out of his pants—holy _fuck_ , no boxers—and gave Billy a long, inviting look before turning to bend slowly over the table, as if in demonstration. "See?"

Billy nodded mutely, watching Joey turn around again and lean against the table with his arms folded casually across his chest, and _Jesus_ , how could he do that, did he _know_ what seeing him standing there so casual and so _hard_ did to him? Like _hell_ he didn't. Billy stripped out of his shirt defiantly, kicking his tennis shoes at the far wall before attacking the buttons of his jeans. Joey watched with barely disguised pleasure, his hands clutching at his arms. _Yeah, you know you want to touch_. _Wipe that look off your face and get over_...

Joey's fingers on him, light and wonderful, as if he'd heard Billy's thoughts. They were close enough to kiss, but Joey kept them a breath apart, watching Billy's eyes as his touch grew bolder in stages, first tickling and brushing, then grasping, _stroking_. Billy groaned in spite of himself, snatching Joey's hand away. "Ah, Joey...not so..."

Joey leaned and pressed his mouth against Billy's ear, wrapping his arms around Billy at last. "Then touch me. All you want."

This was too much, far too much for words. Joey's eyes never left him and never closed, even when Billy thought he might shout with a caress here or a squeeze there. Billy slipped his other arm around Joey's waist, holding him up, tender and insistent. "God, Joey, you're beautiful. That's it, let—let me see your eyes, let me hear—"

"Please, Billy," he whispered, curling forward till his head tossed restlessly on Billy's shoulder. "Please, _now_."

It took all of the effort that Billy possessed to tear away. Joey swayed and stood silent, his eyes begging even in their stillness. Billy fumbled with the zipper of his backpack clumsily. _Dammit!_ He should be able to do something as simple as that, shouldn't he, with Joey watching and so badly wanting? He closed his eyes, cursed, and gave the jammed zipper another yank, only to feel Joey's hand gentle at the nape of his neck.

"Here," Joey said, wobbling down beside him. He dislodged the zipper with a single tug.

"Sorry," Billy mumbled, breaking into a grin. How couldn't he, when Joey was?

"Make it quick, huh?" Joey's hand on his shoulder as he lurched back to his feet, laughter in his voice.

"Not _too_ quick," Billy chided, fumbling around until— _aha!_ The white tube emerged without a fight, snagged between his index and middle fingers. 

Joey was leaning against the table again, but he reached out as Billy rose to his feet. "C'mere. Give me that."

Billy stepped up as close as he dared, the heat of Joey's skin and the warmth of his eyes threatening to melt his composure. "Why should I?" he asked, holding the tube above his head.

"Because I said so," Joey informed him curtly, swiping it away with ease.

Joey's hand on him again, slick with barely-warmed lube. Billy closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, forcing himself to be silent. They'd have to be, wouldn't they, with all those people on the outside keeping nearly absolute quiet? Shit. Joey could do it, sure, but how was he supposed to keep his mouth shut when—

" _Joey!_ That's—"

Joey clamped a hand over his mouth, stroking his belly slick with the other. "Quiet! Do you—do you really think you can—"

Billy pulled Joey's hand away from his mouth and caught his wrists, kissing each one fervently. "For you, anything," he promised softly. _I'd stop breathing if you asked me to_.

"Okay." Joey's whisper was no more than a breath against Billy's mouth, and then Joey kissed him. "Now, Billy," he said firmly, turning in Billy's arms. Offering.

"I could never say no to that," Billy breathed shakily, guiding Joey's arms down to brace against the table, palms flat. God, he hoped this would work. Fuck, Joey deserved—"a bed, you deserve a big fucking bed with satin sheets and enough pillows to swim in and—"

"I love you," Joey said insistently. "I _have you_."

Billy held his breath and ran his fingers across his belly, then reached down between them to brush cool slickness against Joey, pushing tentatively. "Doesn't mean we can't have that bed someday."

Joey's breath hitched, more than just Billy's fingers slipping inside him. "Yeah, I know."

"And a bedroom with walls big enough to hold all of your paintings when you're famous," Billy said, kissing the nape of Joey's neck as he guided his cock into place. 

Joey laughed instead of gasping at Billy's first push. "Floors big enough for all of your dirty clothes and remote control shit."

Billy pushed deeper, biting back a moan. "I beg your pardon? What about your— _ohgod_ , Joey—your fucking huge sketchbooks and—sheet music?" Joey hot and tight around him, holding him impossibly deep. He couldn't breathe. Was it _that_ simple now? Billy let his head drop to Joey's shoulder and trembled, pressing a kiss against the damp skin.

Joey's breath was quick and uneven, but he hadn't even cried out or flinched. "Billy," he whispered, bracing against the table and pushing back. "Move!"

"God, oh, _Joey_..." 

Moving was all he _could_ do, let alone think about what the word meant. He was biting his lip hard enough to sting, gasping Joey's name out with each thrust, hearing his own between scattered breaths and the shocked pleasure of Joey's movements riding up to meet him. This wasn't like anything he'd ever imagined, wasn't like anything they'd ever done. Joey reached back and grabbed one of Billy's hands from his hips. He crushed it against his mouth as his lips parted on a silent scream.

Billy caught himself at the edge, but it was in vain. Knowing silence, knowing Joey, knowing _this_ —everything he'd hoped for, everything he'd never known _to_ hope for. He fell shuddering against Joey, spending himself in a blaze of release and understanding. _This, now, here, Joey_. He wouldn't let it go, no sooner than he could let go of Joey's arm or the table, choking on Joey's name. And it was Joey's voice that called him back, soothing and full of that same promise. 

_Always_.

* * *

"Yeah, so how'd _you_ spend it, huh?" Snuffy challenged. "In the locker room with a frozen dick and a stack of _my_ magazines?"

"No, asshole," Hank replied, slamming his fork down so hard that a few bits of scrambled egg landed at the center of the table. "I listened to _his_ whiny ass down in the library," he said, jerking a thumb at Phil, "while trying to write my own paper, thanks!"

"Excuse me, just _whose_ fault was it that we didn't get a study room?" 

Billy watched Joey take a bite of his french toast as if he hadn't just heard "ass" and "library" used in a sentence prior to one containing the words "study room". _Damn, love_. _Getting good at this_. Billy grinned and took a sip of his apple juice, giving Joey a mental thumbs-up.

"Anyone actually ready to turn it in?" Ric asked, sounding rather exhausted. "I mean _besides_ Joey. Those were some fucking weird stories."

"I am," Billy volunteered casually.

"Yeah, you and your perfect study partner," Snuffy groused. "Rub it in, why don't you?"

Joey took another bite of french toast and eyed Snuffy with malevolence. Nothing to see there.

"Be my guest," Billy suggested cheerfully, scooping the last of his eggs up with a flourish.

* * *

The air was brisk and cold after a brief flurry that had hit during the ride into the city. Joey's eyes were all over the place—the snow-covered trees, the brick buildings, the icy gray sky. Billy read love in every glance, a fondness for this place that he was beginning to understand. Cambridge really was gorgeous, or at least Harvard Yard was gorgeous. He'd see once they passed the gate. He could hardly remember what his first trip early last fall had been like, except that for some reason Joey hadn't gone, which probably explained why he hadn't had any fun. Billy startled out of his reverie when Joey tugged on his hand.

"You wanna see where I got that chocolate back in October?" he asked.

"Yeah, but we can stay here for a little bit longer, if you want." Billy scanned the stately old buildings and wondered how difficult it would be to get into the place. Joey would, he knew that. But what would _he_ do, sneak along and hide out in Joey's dorm? He doubted things worked like that, and well, even if they didn't, it would be worth considering.

"Nah, I'm getting cold," Joey insisted, lacing their gloved fingers together. "The store's not that far."

Cardullo's smelled of tea, warm spices, and a handful of things that Billy couldn't even identify. Joey led him over to the side bricked floor to ceiling with wines; no fucking _wonder_ he'd been able to find such good shit. Joey stuffed his gloves in his pocket, hovering at Billy's shoulder while he scanned row after row of imported bottes, most of them pretty expensive. He gave a cry of triumph when he managed to track down the Essedra, then stood there smirking at Joey as he fingered the bottle's slender neck.

"You have no idea how fucking tempted I am," he confessed.

Joey glanced up at the register, promptly choking on a laugh. "Same chick's here, man. She didn't card me. The question is, would you rather try your luck with her or with Parker?"

"Didn't bring enough money anyway." Billy let his fingers fall away, disappointed. _We still have some celebrating to do_.

Joey reached out and took hold of the bottle, pulling it carefully from the rack, raising his eyebrows at Billy. "I did."

"Good thought. He doesn't check your bags."

"Chocolate's over there," Joey said, indicating a few high racks crammed with a variety of foreign-looking packages.

Billy found the distinctive pale boxes with their gold-threaded packaging almost immediately. "Got it!" He snatched up three of them, whapping Joey's hand out of the way. "Sweets are on me, and so's the tea. What kind d'you want?"

"I have enough at home," Joey insisted, making another grab for the chocolates.

"Hey, stoppit—Joey?"

"Not sure," he said flatly, but he wasn't looking at the teas. His eyes were fixed on the girl at the register, whose eyes were fixed on—

 _Oh_. Billy tucked the boxes casually under his arm and glanced back at Joey as if he hadn't seen it, those hazel eyes sweeping over him with acute interest. Before he could say something to calm Joey down, Joey's arms were tight around his middle, his lips nuzzling at Billy's cheek. 

"Assam. And how about some more roses? They've got 'em..." 

Billy turned his head for a kiss that wasn't hasty in the least.


	12. Noteworthy

The notebook is battered, the corners of its red cover bent and frayed. Every other letter in the brand name is scribbled in solid with dark blue pen, and the front cover bears a violent diagonal crease, possibly the result of being tossed carelessly aside in favor of other pursuits. The crease has been traced over several times in varying shades of ink, perhaps a few times in graphite. Smudges curiously resembling fingerprints dot the lower right-hand corner, and, as if to commemorate whoever grasped it, finger-outlines have been inexpertly drawn around the dark prints. The rest of the cover bears scuff marks at random intervals. Doodling is sparse, geometric and disinterested. A nonetheless well-proportioned stack of cubes dominates the lower left-hand corner; the shaded panels unite to lend the arrangement an Escher-esque air. Below that, a game of Dots hangs in progress, the maze of squares labeled with an uneven jumble of _Bs_ and _Js_. So far, the _Bs_ have it.

The first page contains what might be verb lists for second-year French, or possibly a series of nonsensical imitations thereon. Halfway down the page, the columns break into erratic departures: sentences written half in English, misconjugations and scattered, nonsensical abbreviations. Someone seems to have understood them, however, and has written responses underneath. _Je am si très fucking bored_ , the first one reads, followed closely in different handwriting by, _Et c'est nouvel pourquoi?_ The notebook's owner has replied, _Vous voulez touché avec moi, je peux croire_. The other handwriting returns with, _Holy shit. Vous êtes INTELLIGENT._ In answer: _Pas de merde, Sherlock_. _Trop tard_ , the other writer says, but there's a smiley face immediately after the comeback, one that looks almost proud. The date— _10/01/90_ —appears in the lower right-hand corner, as if it has every right to be there.

The next few pages do not even pretend to contain anything of particular value. More cube arrangements adorn the lined paper at random intervals; some of them are shaded, and some of them are not. Two games of Dots appear on the second page, and unlike the one on the notebook's cover, they are finished: _J_ victories, both. The third page is almost entirely devoted to a ruthless battle of Tic-Tac-Toe, board after board struck out with _Cs_ until _X_ gleans two victories near the top of the page with a triumphant _HA!_ in boldly scribbled letters. _PAYBACK!_

 _:-P_ , says the defeated opponent.

 _:-*_ , the winner responds.

A hesitant scribble, then nothing.

Tucked into the pocket of the notebook's first divider is a piece of orange paper, which is folded unevenly in half. Bright red, scholarly handwriting stands out in sickening contrast against the official-looking typeface. This is a form that has been mass-produced and personalized on occasions beyond counting. It has been intentionally ignored by the recipient, except for a curt scrawl on the back that reads, _whatfuckingever_. 

The second section is devoted to notes of a mathematical nature, which occur with greater frequency than the French. Many of the formulas have been erased and re-written, but not by the notebook's owner. Several lines of clarification parade under each, patient and neatly plotted out. When the proofs are actually worked through, the handwriting returns to the owner's casual norm and the answers—perhaps unexpectedly—are correct. At the bottom of one page (dated properly, _10-8-90_ at the top) the more careful writer has drawn a star and stated boldly, _You're on your own now, got it?_ After a dash of hesitation, the casual writer responds, _since when d'you think I wasn't?_ Another dash, this one sudden and confused, followed by a deliberate, _Asshole!_ The corner of this page is badly bent, as if turned over much too quickly. At the top of the next page, which contains no equations or proofs whatsoever, a clear conversation emerges:

_Look, I'm sorry—thanks_

_Did you need help, or didn't you?_

_You helped me catch the hang of it_.

_But you understood all along. Fucking faker._

_So sue me, I like watching you_

_Billy—_

_give me that, now okay, I won't do it again— —_

_Won't do what?_. . .

 _Depends_.

_Fuck you. Don't you dare tell me—_

_gonna keep my hand over your mouth till you promise don't yell phil's sleep—_

_Tell me you fucking meant it_.

_I meant it! Joey Joey Joey. I meant it. Why the fuck you think I helped you get back at_

A smuge of graphite, and the page is severely bent. Very small in the lower right-hand corner, written in pen, perhaps on another day:

_Yeah, you did. I'm sorry._

In pencil, unusually purposeful:

_XOXOXOX_

The notebook's second divider is full of study guide handouts from what appears to be an economics course. Less than half of the question-prompts have been responded to. A few of the answers are given in French.

To attempt a guess at what course the third section is devoted to would be nearly impossible. Bar graphs and verb lists merge with cube-towers and elaborate miniature maps. One of the maps appears to be a rough layout of buildings, each labeled only by sets of initials, quite a few of which end in _H_. To the rear of one of the largest buildings, an extraneous rectangle has been sketched in boldly. It encloses a row of exclamation points. 

The careful handwriting asks, _What's that?_

_Next weekend, that's what. B.Y.O.B._

_No way, man,_ reads the response. _That's your department_.

_I'm bringing you, does that count?_

_For some values of B_ , the careful writer replies.

The remaining pages are filled with maps as well, some resembling the small plot of buildings, some not. Sometimes a single building-shape appears, broken down into rows of smaller compartments. Double and triple sets of initials label most of these, and some are struck out—or perhaps singled out—with _Xs_. One has very distinctly been labeled by the neater handwriting, _McAssmunch_. The _X_ is more pronounced than usual.

The third divider has been written on. Six columns for six names: _Billy, Joey, Snuffy, Hank, Ric, Phil_. Under each are clusters of tally-marks; Hank's lead is pronounced and evidently unbeatable. Joey's tally is the smallest, consisting of only eight marks. Inside the pocket is a many-times-used paper football held together with Scotch tape. It has been decorated with black pen to make it more closely resemble an actual football. Whoever did it has succeeded.

The third and fourth sections of the notebook are a confused mix of previous elements—doodles, maps, conversations, sparse segments of actual notes concerning American Lit and Geology—but a new genre of diagram emerges nonetheless. Ridiculous names appear at intervals, each followed by a dash and a list of bizarre items or scraps of notation (often both). _Tact-Man_ is followed by a single line that reads, _crest & creepers_. The rest are equally as baffling: 

_Old Mouse—ballons au chambre_

_Blondie—water bottle (but what else?)_

_Aardvark, P.—ask Joey_

_Munch—tuesday, aim low_

_Prima Donna—string b. snaps perfume spider (?) tacks_

All of this is followed by a scrawl in green colored pencil: _The fuck?_

_So 'bout Aard, what d'you think?_

_Something with bubbles_ , says the green. _Good shit for P.D., btw_.

The fourth divider is stuffed full on both sides with corrected exams. They appear to be organized by subject, and within each subject, the papers are sorted by date. The grades range from a couple of _Ds_ up to _C+_ , followed by a consistent string in the lower _B_ -range (French, Geology, American Lit). _A-_ appears three times, twice in Geometry and once in French. Half of the French exams apparently have points marked off for the fashion in which the papers are dated: lower right-hand corner, upper left-hand corner, correct position in American style. The professor has given up proper demonstration on the most recent of these, dated _2/14/91_ , which happens to be the _A-_.

The fifth section of the notebook is, for the most part, blank. A flip through the first half of the pages reveals them to be smooth and untouched, not a single one of them bent. Close to the end, a series of full-page map diagrams begin—these are so exacting that they have probably been done with the aid of a ruler and compass, and that with practiced ease. One of the pages is plotted out in a large, even rectangle, which is filled with a dizzying bird's-eye perspective on a myriad shapes that must represent objects that occupy the room: a small rectangular island here, clusters of things grouped up against the wall there. In one corner, right over an unceremonious cluster of shapes, a star has been drawn. No labeling indicates what might or might not be hidden there.

The next-to-last page has been put to mundane use, an easily discernable list as follows:

 

_ Spring Break _

_—toothbrush, toothpaste  
Shoes  
wrong column, caro_

_—socks, boxers, shorts, shirts, etc.  
(Boxers?)   
shut up_

_—shoes  
Boots, too. Might rain.  
gotcha_

_—french book  
(For Creole? I don't think so.)  
spoilsport!_

_—camera, film  
Sketchbook, pencils  
whose list is this anyway?_

_—$$$  
$$$$$$$$$$$$  
hey, big spender :-*_

_—supplies  
(Snerk.)_

_—Joey  
(Suitcase?!)  
in my lap, if planes allowed that kind of thing._


	13. If We Shadows

"Gag," Billy groaned, dropping the box that he'd just opened onto the floor. "Listen to this: 'Dear Billy, I'll be missing you and thinking of you on Saturday. I hope this reaches you at school in time. Please enjoy your trip to Louisiana, and whatever you do, don't get too carried away. Stick with your friends and stay safe. I almost wish you could've gone for Mardi Gras; senior year of college, I had the time of my life. Would you check up on that shop I mentioned? Thanks, honey. Happy birthday! I love you, Mom.' " He dropped the note over the box, letting it drift and catch haphazardly on the tape-festooned flaps. "Fucking _shirts_ , Joey. She sent me shirts."

Joey glanced up from rummaging through his music collection, tapping Enigma's _MCMXC A.D._ contemplatively against his thigh. "Is that all? Check the bottom. Or the pockets. Seems like your Mom would be cute about that kind of shit."

Billy gave him a bleak look, then leaned forward and dipped his hand into the box. He rummaged, making a series of faces, until his expression broke on something that made Joey grin. He pulled up a wad of bills and stared at it.

"Not too shabby," Joey said, turning back to his entertainment system and opening the CD's jewel case. "How much?"

A grainy rustling. "Three hundred."

"Nice," Joey remarked as he hit _play_.

"There's still this card from Dad."

Joey got up and climbed onto the bed, sprawling beside Billy. "I can't believe you waited the entire ride to open those."

"Not like it was going to be anything exciting," Billy said, leaning down to steal a kiss before tearing into the envelope. "What the fuck are we listening to?"

"Nothing that I expect you to appreciate." Joey closed his eyes and held Billy still for another.

" _Mmm_. Whatever," Billy replied cheerfully, sitting back up and pulling the card free.

Joey rolled onto his side and watched intently as Billy opened the card. _Just you wait till tonight_. Three one-hundred dollar bills fell into Billy's lap.

"Jesus Christ, they freak me out," Billy muttered, shoving the cash into the box with what his mother had given him. "At least he didn't try to write his own message," he said with a grimace, tossing the card on the floor. "Hallmark shit is bad enough."

Joey sat up, shifting closer beside Billy. "I'm not giving you mine till later," he said softly, brushing his lips against Billy's neck. Soft, soap-clean skin. They'd showered that morning before leaving Regis. Phil had gone home to Providence the night before. "Hope you don't mind."

"It's worth the wait." Billy turned his head for another kiss.

"Joey!"

He hadn't even heard the door swing open. Billy jumped and swore, and Joey nearly fell off the bed.

"Gina! That's _bad_ ," Joey scolded shakily, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "You don't scare people."

"Joey," the toddler sulked, huddling against the wall with hurt eyes.

Joey could hear Billy's startled breaths as he crossed the room and scooped her up. "When did you get here, huh?" He kissed Gina's cheek and smoothed her dark, wispy hair. Damn, that meant Dominic and Cecilia were downstairs! Since when were they coming for a visit? His Dad hadn't mentioned it. 

"Who's this?" Billy asked, not even attempting to mask his confusion.

"Gina," Joey said. "My oldest cousin's daughter. Who _climbs_ things," he said pointedly, blowing a raspberry against the toddler's cheek. Gina giggled and tried to twist out of Joey's arms, but he managed to sit back down beside Billy with her in his lap. "Gina," he said, turning her head gently, "this is Billy."

"Hey there," Billy said, somewhere between relieved and genuinely smiling. "You're a cutie."

"Can you say 'Billy'?" Joey asked. Last he could remember, she was a sharp little squirt. Starting to say stuff all over the place.

"Bee." Gina twisted the hem of her shirt between her thumb and forefinger, avoiding Billy's gaze.

"Aw. How old is she?" Billy reached out and ruffled her hair. Gina looked up and gave him a shy grin, tugging on her shirt vigorously.

"Almost two, I think," Joey said, letting her squirm down onto the floor.

Billy leaned forward on his knees and watched her investigate the box. "So, you can say 'Joey'?"

"Kiss," she said, picking at a piece of curling tape with fascination.

"Um," Billy said, glancing up at Joey with wide eyes.

It was a minute or so before Joey could catch his breath. "It's okay," he said, choking back another laugh. "I think that was her first word. Dom says in letters to Dad that she asks for them all the time."

"Yeah, well, I don't think she was asking," Billy said wryly, leaning over far enough to muss her hair again. "You're smart."

"Joey, look," Gina gasped, holding up one of Billy's hundred-dollar bills.

"Gina, _no_ ," Joey scolded. "That's Billy's!" He tried to grab it from her, but she ducked away, throwing Joey an accusatory look.

"Bee," she said, dashing up to Billy and shoving the money at his midsection.

Billy caught the bill against his stomach and laughed. "Thank you. You're quite a lady."

"Yeah right," said an amused male voice from the doorway. "She pinched Taddeo's comic book in the car. Hey, Joey, you been okay?"

"Pretty good," Joey said, rising to his feet automatically. "You?"

Dominic smiled at his daughter, then back at Joey. "It comes and goes. I'll take the squirt, if you want," he offered, holding out his arms. "She was out of Ceci's arms like a shot—weren't you, honey?"

Joey turned his head and watched Gina dart away from Billy and into her father's arms. Billy crumpled the money hastily into his pocket, giving him an uncertain look. Joey wasn't used to seeing Billy so unnerved.

"This is Billy Tepper," Joey said hastily, glancing back at his cousin. "Best friend from school," he added. _Fucking lame_.

"Yep," Gina confirmed as her father settled her firmly in his arms.

"Is that so," Dom said, smiling at Billy with an affable nod. "Pleasure to meet you. You were here before, weren't you? I heard Al telling Dad," he said, turning his attention back to Joey. He looked kind of tired, maybe like he hadn't shaved that morning. Jeans, wrinkled soccer jersey. Man, twenty-six years old and he was totally into the fathering thing.

"Yeah," Billy said, running his hands down to his knees and tapping his fingers against them. "I visited over Thanksgiving last year."

"Dad didn't mention you were coming," Joey said, realizing that he might sound defensive. Billy was still uncomfortable.

"We weren't planning on it," Dom explained. "Dad wanted to take a drive up to say hello to Giulio's people, you know...and Ceci and I were at his place for the day. Tad liked the thought of a trip to Jersey City, so we thought, why not. You guys are more or less on the way."

"Makes sense," Joey said, even though it didn't. Fucking smart, taking the wife and baby. Really fucking smart. Joey bit his tongue, feeling Billy's eyes on him. "You realize he'll ask you to stay for dinner."

"Who am I to turn down Miss Mannetti's cooking?"

"I'll second that," Billy said unexpectedly. "She makes a great lasagna."

"Hey, that's my man," Dom said, pleased, untangling Gina's fingers from the chain at his neck. "Joey, you hold onto him, huh? See you downstairs."

"Joey!" Gina called over her father's shoulder. "Bee, down."

Joey took a slow breath, waiting till they were gone. Billy stood up, motionless beside him.

"Sorry about that," Joey murmured, meeting his eyes apologetically. "I guess you'll be getting full introductions, then."

Billy took Joey's hand and drew it up to his lips, kissing the palm softly. "Hey, don't worry about it," he said, grinning. "You heard the little lady. Let's go see 'em."

Joey heard voices when they entered the hall. Halfway down the stairs, he could see that his father and Uncle Begni were talking in low voices near the front door.

"...and told Alessandro I won't do the pickup till the boys are gone."

"I hope those bastards won't try cheating you out of—"

"I don't think that will be a problem."

Joey could hear Billy's steps falter behind him; his warm presence tensed and froze. Joey looked at the ceiling and kept walking. One step, two, then four more. _Just breathe_. He and Billy could certainly slip past—

"Joseph, my boy!"

 _Shit_. "Hey," he said, accepting his uncle's handshake and clap on the shoulder without blinking. "Long time no see." Joey felt Billy move up close behind him, shifting from one foot to the other. _You don't know how sorry I am_.

"So tall," Begni murmured, taking a step back. "Outgrow your old man, you hear?"

Albert cleared his throat to silence his younger brother, or possibly to remind Joey of his manners. "Introductions, Joseph?" he asked, standing there with his arms folded and smile somewhat restrained. Maybe it was both. 

_Fuck you_. Joey didn't look at his father, much preferring his uncle's relaxed disposition and easy smile. He turned around and touched Billy's arm without thinking, almost a caress. _Please relax_. "This is Billy Tepper," he said, holding Billy's gaze for a few seconds before turning back to his uncle. "One of my roommates at Regis."

"Long drive you boys must've had," Begni said sympathetically.

Joey heard Billy's intake of breath, the sort he used when he was trying to muster up the courage to crack a joke or a smile. "Joey wouldn't know," he said. "He slept the whole way. Pleasure to meet you, sir."

Joey ignored the burning in his cheeks and nodded, meeting his uncle's teasing, quizzical eyes with a shrug. _That's over with_.

"As I was saying, Ben," Albert began, "if you'll stay with us—"

"Look who finally crawled out of the woodwork."

Joey spun around and stared at the boy standing in the doorway of the living room. Jesus, he'd gotten taller, too. "Look who finally decided to grow up," Joey said. "Geez, Tad."

Tad cracked half a smile and just stood there with his shoulder propped against the doorframe. "Guess Gina gave you the what-for. That kid has manners."

Joey stole a glance at Billy, then met Tad's eyes again. He had been about to return the smile, but there was some new edge to him that made Joey uncertain. This wasn't the same kid he'd played Nintendo with six months ago. "More than you," Joey replied automatically.

Tad laughed and unfolded his arms, then reached out to grab Joey's hand and give it a perfunctory shake. "So, who's the friend?"

Billy had stepped up between him and Tad before Joey could open his mouth again. "Billy Tepper," he said, but didn't offer his hand. Joey could hear Billy's voice continue in his head, _Or weren't you listening, douchebag?_

"My roommate," Joey cut in quickly, coming up shoulder to shoulder with Billy. "College going okay?"

Tad shrugged; he was still sizing Billy up with keen interest. "Same old, same old. Maybe by the time I'm through, RISD would have some interest in you."

 _Since when were you an asshole?_ Joey bit his tongue and said, "I'm not really interested in advertizing."

"He's applying to Harvard," Billy said firmly.

Tad's eyes flew from Billy to Joey. "Is _that_ so?" he asked with a sort of cocky nonchalance.

"I'm considering it," Joey said truthfully.

"Excellent school," Begni cut in, having interrupted his conversation with his brother. "Might as well try for Yale while you're at it."

Tad waited till they were lost in conversation again, as if mulling all of this over, then lowered his voice. "Sure, and don't forget Brown and Wellesley."

Joey caught Billy's wrist in an iron grip. He could feel Billy shaking.

"I think your brother ought to consider finding you a place at Montessori with Gina," Joey snapped under his breath. "What the—"

"Temper, temper," Tad warned, standing up straight and nodding over his shoulder. "Let's continue this conversation elsewhere."

"How about let's not," Billy said coolly. 

"Fine by me," Joey agreed, looking straight at Tad. "Dom and the baby are better company anyway."

"I bet he hasn't met Cecilia yet," Tad said, raising his eyebrows and shoving his hands in his pockets. What the fuck, _suggestive_ much?

"Oh, he'll be _enchanted_ with the whole family at this rate," Joey said guardedly, eyes still fixed on Tad. He walked past with Billy close behind him, finally looking away as he entered the living room.

"God knows, considering _your_ perspective is what he gets." Jesus, Tad had followed him, was right beside him. Billy edged up so close behind them that Joey could feel his breath. They were in the middle of the living room, following voices toward the dining room. It was fucking surreal.

Joey quickened his pace so that Billy wouldn't run into him when he stopped dead a second later. "Look, Tad, whatever your problem is, you could've waited till I didn't have company—or till your _Dad_ was fucking right there, for Christ's sake—to bring it up. If you're looking for a fight, I'm not gonna start one."

"For once." Tad was smirking.

Joey had to grab Billy's wrist again, but he was the one shaking. _Quiet please stay quiet please don't_ —

"Women and children," Billy reminded him condescendingly.

Tad just glared and stalked off the way they'd come, muttering something about _bodyguard already_ under his breath.

Billy didn't look at Joey till Tad was well out of the room. "Jesus, what's his problem?"

"I have a few guesses." Joey closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "He's always liked to listen in on their conversations. I bet that's what he was doing in here when we came downstairs."

"What, they just _let_ him?" Billy asked, disbelieving.

"They'd let me, if I wanted," Joey said solemnly.

Billy nodded slowly, understanding. "But you don't, and Tad does."

"I always knew he'd—keep the faith, so to speak," Joey explained, "but he was never that defensive about it, you know? Never occurred to me that he might be jealous. Which is fucking great, isn't it?"

"Tell him to take your share, or whatever you call it," Billy said darkly, "and leave you alone."

"I guess he'd be next in line, since Dom isn't interested."

"Wow, he isn't? You'd think with a family to provide for—"

"He's _okay_ with it. Feels safer in than out. But his family's the reason he'd never take it. He wants the protection, not the responsibility. Or something like that, how the hell should I know?"

Billy was looking at him strangely. "You know more than you think."

Joey's throat tightened. "Just because I _understand_ —I'd never—"

"I know, I know," Billy said, hastily apologetic, taking Joey's hand. "I just didn't realize..."

Joey squeezed his fingers, then swallowed and let go. "I'm afraid they're part of the deal."

"You're the part that matters." Billy's eyes said everything that he couldn't.

"Bee!"

"Yeah, Gina," Joey said with a sigh, almost staggering with the weight that hit his shins. He bent down and picked her up again, holding her so that she faced Billy. "He's here."

She held out her arms, and Billy gave Joey a look he wouldn't forget any time soon.

"Here," Joey said. "She must like you or something."

Billy laughed, taking Gina awkwardly. "Must be my stunning good looks."

 _Wouldn't blame her_ , Joey thought. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and saw Cecilia peering in from the dining room. Her pale blue eyes always startled him. Back when Dom had started dating her, he couldn't keep _his_ eyes off them.

"Hiya, Joey."

He smiled at her and reached over to ruffle Gina's hair. "She's getting so big. How're you?"

"Oh, you know," Cecilia said tucking her long, dark hair behind her ear. "Diapers, pre-preschool, the works. Have you found a new friend, honey?" She was grinning at her daughter now, waving. "Gina, who've you got there?"

Joey felt like smacking his forehead. "Cecilia, this is—"

"Bee," Gina said proudly. She had Billy's free hand in both of her own, holding it up to show her mother.

"Billy Tepper," Billy said, nodding at her. "Pleasure to meet you."

"We're in trouble, Ceci," Dom called from somewhere in the dining room. "She takes to boys fast."

"You must be Joey's friend from school," Cecilia said. "We've heard about you."

Billy snatched Gina's fingers out of his hair and gave her an awkward smile. "Good stuff, I hope."

"Albert thinks highly of you," she said simply, stepping into the room with her arms outstretched. "Gina, that's not nice..."

Billy handed her over, somewhat relieved. "It's okay. She's adorable, real heartbreaker."

Joey heard Dom chuckle in the next room. "Better lock away your makeup!"

"Oh, like I fuckin' _wear_ any!" Cecilia laughed over her shoulder, her voice dropping sharply. She clutched Gina close, wearing this _oops!_ sort of grin, really impish. 

Joey glanced at Billy out of the corner of his eye. He was trying pretty hard not to laugh. Joey bit his lip and stared at the floor until he regained his composure. "Don't worry about it. We won't tell."

When Joey looked up, Billy was grinning at Gina. He walked over and tickled her cheek, then leaned close, lowering his voice. "Your mommy," he said gravely, "has a potty-mouth."

* * *

"Seventeen," Joey said seriously, whistling as he bent to light the last candle. "Getting up there, man."

"Yeah, but it won't _stay_ up there if you don't get the fuck over here." 

"Just hang on a second," Joey protested, blowing the match out, then crumbling the pinpoint of heat to harmless charcoal-dust between his fingertips. He closed his eyes, shivering as he dropped it. Picturing what he'd probably see when he turned around, and it was about right.

Billy was sprawled out naked on top of the duvet, his skin catching a golden glow from the candles they'd put on Joey's desk and on the trunk at the foot of the bed. Brushing his fingers carelessly across his chest, over his belly, down to his thighs...

"Hey, stop that," Joey chided, stepping awkwardly over the trunk and onto the bed, barely missing one of the candles. He wobbled and landed in a heap right beside Billy.

"Don't burn the place down," Billy murmured, leaning over for a kiss.

"Mm, no," Joey agreed absently, tilting his head up. Billy's warm hand stroked up and down his side, making him shiver again. He shifted closer, hitching a leg over Billy's hip. Billy hummed and let his hand slide down to the small of Joey's back, tangling their legs. Joey squirmed, raking his fingers through Billy's hair. _Much better_.

Billy backed off a little, just enough to press their foreheads together. His hand skated up to Joey's shoulder blades, splayed fingers giving Joey a sort of circle-massage. "I love you."

"You said that already," Joey teased, nuzzling at his lips. "Not like I'm gonna forget."

Billy looked indignant, even at skewed close-range. "I don't say it _enough_."

"Then neither do I," Joey concluded, pinching him halfheartedly. "Love you."

Billy knocked him flat against the pillows with another kiss, fierce and demanding. "Hey—" Joey managed to gasp out, half laughing "— _hey_ —"

Billy whimpered in mock protest, settling onto Joey full-weight. Deeper now, careful, his tongue hot and welcome in Joey's mouth. Slow, so fucking _sweet_.

"What, um," Joey panted when Billy decided to turn his attention to Joey's neck instead, "d'you want?"

"Hmm?" Billy's tongue was busy at the hollow of his throat.

"For...for your birthday, asshole!" Fuck, he couldn't _think_.

Billy clucked his tongue and stopped tasting Joey's skin. "Well, if you're gonna talk like _that_ —"

"Oh, save it," Joey mumbled, crushing his mouth against Billy's and rolling him over awkwardly. 

" _Mmmhmmmf_."

"Huh?" Joey loved looking at Billy when he was like this, flushed and hardly breathing, _wanting_.

"For you?" he whispered, running his fingers up Joey's spine till they found the hair at his nape, caressing. "Gladly."

That deserved another kiss. Hard enough to make Billy whimper again, trembling under him.

"Whatever you wanna do with me. _God_."

Joey braced himself up, brushing Billy's hair back. "That would be everything," he admitted, "but I don't think we have time. Early flight and all."

Billy raised his eyebrows. "Hm, we could save some of it. Mile-High Club?"

Joey fought the impulse to laugh. "In first class? You've gotta be joking. Besides, we'll both be asleep."

"Not on the flight out of Atlanta."

"Newark first, possible ass later. Look, I don't know about you, but I'm more interested in... _Billy_..." Those fingers on him. God, it felt good.

"More interested in you, too," Billy agreed. He glanced over at the edge of the desk briefly, brushing a kiss against Joey's nose. "By the way, that card...I don't know how the fuck you make..." Kisses, more kisses. No _end_ of kisses. Just for attempting a self-portrait? Joey trembled and collapsed against him again, moving without a thought.

"Art projects later. Want to... _mmm_ , yeah...fuck you, if you don't mind."

Billy laughed against his mouth, but his voice broke on a groan. " _Please_."

"Let go, then," Joey whispered.

Easier said than done. Billy snared him into one kiss after another, tightening his arms till Joey writhed in frustration. He couldn't very well get to the fucking if Billy weren't so intent on a repeat performance of the night before, minus the outrageous endearments, not that Joey would've _minded_ the endearments. But on the whole, he preferred kissing—yes, and _there_ , that's all it took, a little bit of side-tickling, a twist and a roll while Billy panted with laughter.

"You _asshole_ , you're gonna make me—"

"Look who's talking," Joey scoffed, staggering to his feet, looking around frantically for Billy's duffel bag. Dammit, why did they always keep the lube with _his_ stuff? Fucking mess. It would take him ten minutes to find it, but Billy could always come up with it in two seconds flat. _Aha_. Under the desk.

"Side pocket," Billy said breathlessly.

"Which _one?_ "

"Oh. Left."

Joey unzipped it and rummaged for a few seconds before his fingers ran across the smooth, familiar contours of the tube. Kept getting the same kind, not really sure how many times they'd run out. Billy was probably keeping track. He got up and flopped back onto the bed, tapping Billy's stomach with it. 

"What the fuck's _in_ there, anyway?"

"Ah—hey—cold!" Billy gasped, grabbing the tube away from Joey. "You know, the essentials—string, pocketknife, duct tape, bang snaps—"

"That explains the little cardboard box." Joey grabbed back the lube and uncapped it, hastily squeezing out a handful. Jesus, it was _cold_. Stupid, freezing trunk. They should've carried the bag in the car. He slicked himself with a shiver, jumping at the touch of Billy's hand.

"Stop that," he said softly, fingers closing gently around Joey's cock.

Joey let go and sagged over him, gasping. "Be my gue—holy _fuck_ , Billy—"

"Mm, easy," Billy breathed against his cheek, tugging Joey over him, "yeah, c'mere."

Billy didn't have anything quite so coherent to say once Joey had worked his hand down between them and slipped a finger in. Easy, Billy wanted _easy_. Joey gave it to him, along with quite a few more kisses, until Billy was begging for more than just fingers and... _shit_ , somebody might hear.

"Quiet," Joey whispered furtively, slipping both fingers free despite Billy's moan of protest. "You've gotta stay quiet."

Billy gave a pained laugh. "Yeah, _right_ , and you're not gonna yell the minute—"

He clapped his hand over Billy's mouth and pressed his lips against it, hissing helplessly at the burst of Billy's breath against his palm. Sliding in was almost unbearably tight at first, the same and as thrillingly different as always. Joey's hips jerked helplessly, and he tried to hold himself steady, but he'd probably lose his balance anyway. Hand over Billy's mouth, lips against hand. _Oh, God_. Breathe first, move next. But Billy was already moving, his moan muffled against Joey's palm.

Joey yanked his hand away and used his mouth instead.

* * *

"I wanna know who writes this shit," Billy muttered, flipping a few more pages. He paused to listen curiously to another announcement coming over the PA system.

Joey cringed at the brightly colored layout and took another sip of coffee, shoving the cup back at Billy. "I _don't_ wanna know who designs it." _Or who brewed that shit_.

"You think they actually have teenage girls on staff?" Billy took a sip, biting the plastic lid thoughtfully.

"That would explain a lot," Joey muttered. He rubbed his eyes, glancing out the huge window in front of them. The sky was mid-morning bright, but it still felt like fucking 6 AM. No sign of the flight coming in from D.C., but then, they had arrived ten minutes early. 

Billy tossed the abandoned copy of _Seventeen_ back on the floor and set the coffee down carefully before turning to look at Joey. "You okay?"

"Fucking tired," Joey confessed. When had they gotten to sleep, anyway? Three?

"They'll be here pretty soon." Billy draped an arm over the back of Joey's chair, casually letting it slip down onto his shoulders.

Joey yawned and shifted to one side, leaning over the single chair-arm that separated them. Billy was comfortable, and the soft skin beneath his ear smelled like his favorite soap. Joey closed his eyes and nuzzled at it, yawning again. He didn't care what Snuffy would have to say, he was gonna fucking _sleep_.

Billy's lips brushed his forehead absently. "We have another hour till Phil gets in, don't we?"

"Yeah," Joey said without opening his eyes, "and another two and a half till Ric lands."

"That's pretty good timing." Billy was combing through his hair now, gentle strokes of his fingers.

"Might've been interesting to visit San Diego," Joey murmured. "Nice of his Mom to invite us all."

"Maybe next time," Billy said. "I don't know about you, but I've been waiting ages for this trip."

"I've always been curious, yeah." Okay, so maybe he _wasn't_ gonna fucking sleep, but it was nice anyway. Billy was rubbing his shoulder.

"Funny, I'd think a guy like you would be more than just curious."

"Remind me to rephrase that when I'm actually _awake_ , okay?" Joey punched blindly and caught Billy in the hip. 

Billy grabbed his hand and squeezed it for a few seconds before letting go. "Hey! Over here!"

Joey sat up quickly, blinking to clear his eyes. Snuffy was heading toward them with a loaded messenger bag slung over one shoulder and a couple of magazines clutched under his other arm, smirking. Hank was close behind him, trying unsuccessfully to polish his glasses with his shirt one-handed.

"Jesus, Snuffy," Billy remarked, eyeing the bag, then the magazines. "You'd think we're gonna be away for a month."

"Just doing my civic duty," Snuffy said loftily, tossing the copies of _Penthouse_ and _Rolling Stone_ right in Billy's lap. "Better than what you're reading." He kicked _Seventeen_ 's corner with the toe of his loafer.

"It's so bad that even the chicks don't want it," Joey informed him nobly. "We braved it so you won't have to." 

Hank shoved his glasses back in place and pushed Snuffy out of the way, snatching the magazines out of Billy's lap. "Sorry, man," he said. "I get next dibs. Have a good flight?"

"Yeah, it was all right," Billy said, glancing at Joey before rising to his feet and stretching. "Don't remember much, though."

"Bet you were up all night." Snuffy had flopped down in the chair beside Joey, giving him a pointed look.

"Bet you slept in and almost missed your flight." Joey smirked at him. 

"Actually, that's true," Hank said, pointing the rolled-up magazines at him accusingly. "I had to call and drag his ass out of bed, man. Just like at school."

Snuffy was a bit red in the face. "At least I'm not the one who _forgot_ his carry-on and had to turn around a quarter of a mile up the freeway."

Hank raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, and who couldn't find half of his magazines and shit because he left 'em at Regis?"

"I _definitely_ think that was a personal remark," Joey said, glancing at Snuffy first, then at Billy, who was unsuccessfully trying not to crack up.

"Fuck you," Snuffy muttered.

"Nope, sorry." Joey grinned, his eyes still fixed on Billy.

When they arrived at Phil's gate, he was already waiting. He had a couple of magazines on hand, too, but they were sports-related. Snuffy endured another round of wise-cracks about his own, and then the five of them went to check out the gift shops and food court.

"Looks way better than the caf," Hank said hopefully, eyeing the Panda Express.

"No it doesn't," Joey countered.

"Marginally, but I'm not convinced," Snuffy agreed, giving the other vendors a dubious glance.

"Spoilsports, I'll be fucking _hungry_ by the time Ric gets here," Phil complained.

Billy tugged on Joey's arm. "C'mon. I think they have a museum store."

They caught a tram from the shops to Ric's terminal just in time for his arrival. Joey hadn't escaped without a small book of stickers based on ancient Egyptian designs, which Snuffy thought was the funniest thing ever. Ric flipped through the pages intently, making a sort of _hmm, not bad_ face. He handed it back to Joey.

"That's some cool shit. Can I have one of those hawks?"

"Sure," Joey said, tucking it into his bag. "Later, when you've got a place to put it."

"I'll be sure to keep my eyes open," Snuffy offered. "I've seen plenty of stuff like that you might like to add to your collection."

"Um, thanks," Joey said guardedly. Snuffy's idea of shopping for friends usually turned up gag gifts wise-ass enough to make Billy envious.

"We might as well head over to the gate," Phil said. "Or get food, or something."

"I hope somebody brought a deck of cards," Ric said, glancing over his ticket. "Our flight doesn't leave till 7:05 PM."

"Magazines for all," Snuffy announced, patting his messenger bag.

Hank thwapped him in the shoulder with _Penthouse_. "Asshole, your fucking magazines get _boring_ ," he told Snuffy, glaring at Billy, who had stolen the copy of _Rolling Stone_.

Joey straightened his watch and pulled a few stray threads from one of his bracelets. "Billy brought cards."

"I refuse to play Slap-Jack with Joey," Snuffy said, raising his hand.

Billy gave him a condescending look. "Quickreflexaphobic?"

"Shut the fuck up."

"I'll play," Ric said with determination. "You fucking beat us all last time. I'm out for blood."

Joey raised both hands in the air, grinning at Ric.

"Okay, fine, we'll play cards!" Phil burst out. "But first, I'm out for _lunch_."

* * *

" _Ha!_ "

"Ow," Joey gasped, shaking his fingers out. "Nice shot."

Ric gathered the pile cards over his way, grinning insanely.

"One small step for Californian-kind," Billy quipped, but there was a hint of something serious in his eyes. "Take it easy, Ric."

"Mr. Trotta here does _not_ take it easy," Hank said pointedly. "You gotta play brutal."

Billy studied his own fingers, and the seriousness melted into sarcasm. "Gee, no broken bones yet."

Joey broke them up with a gesture. "Okay, okay. No more of that. War?"

"Stupid game," Phil complained, tossing his cards in for collection all the same. "My grandma taught me that when I was five."

Snuffy shifted forward in his chair and glanced over Hank's shoulder, closing his magazine. "Why not Five-Hundred Rum?"

"I can never remember how to play that fucking game," Phil said sourly. "Grandma tried to teach me that one, too, but it didn't stick. All that damn 'nello' and 'golden nello' business, whatever the fuck that means."

"Plain Rummy? Crazy Eights?" Aw, come _on_. Were Slap-Jack and War the only games that all of them knew?

"Boring and _more_ boring," Ric declared.

Joey shuffled the cards, then slapped the deck back into Billy's hand. "I guess we've turned into a bunch of fucking spoilsports."

Snuffy cut in again, looking a little too smug for Joey's taste. "There's always Four Kings."

"Get out of here!" Ric laughed. "Isabella plays when she has all her friends over for a slumber party. What's your excuse for knowing a game like that, anyway? You don't _have_ a little sister."

Snuffy made a face at Ric. "I don't, but my cousin Sherrie is thirteen."

"How do you play?" Billy asked.

"Are you kidding?" Snuffy asked. "It's the dumbest fucking thing I've ever seen."

Ric grabbed the cards away from Billy and fished through until he had all four of the kings lined up in front of him. "They go like this, right? One girl's working the cards, another one's the victim. The one dealing asks the victim to assign a guy she likes to each of the kings, so that king stands for that guy. Then the dealer tells the victim to ask questions, and usually she'll say something like, 'Ooo, who'll give me my first kiss?'—and the dealer goes through and starts laying cards under the kings, one after another, until the suit matches up. For example," Ric demonstrated, stopping when he happened to flip up a three of hearts under the king of hearts. "That means that Mr. Hearts, whoever he is, will supposedly be the one to give her the smooch, and so on."

"It's a fortune-telling game," Joey said, snickering. "Like MASH."

Billy looked at him, almost impressed. "You got away with playing MASH in _Catholic_ school?"

"Man, nobody's safe from MASH in elementary school. _Nobody_." As Joey recalled, he was supposed to end up married to Anne Casta, who would weigh one-hundred and ten pounds, bear him three children, and wear a yellow wedding dress. Fucking hilarious. Oh yeah, and they'd live in a shack.

"So if you do this for a guy, it would be Four Queens," Hank observed.

"Or Kings, depending on preference," Snuffy clarified. Looking right at Joey.

"Since you're so eager, Snuffy," Billy said abruptly, grabbing the cards away from Ric and lining up the kings in front of himself, "why don't we tell your fortune?"

Snuffy went red again. "I never said I wanted to _play_."

"You suggested it," Hank reminded him, yanking him off the chair by his pant-leg.

"Ow! Okay, fine, but—"

"In some variations of this," Ric said thoughtfully, nodding slowly at Billy, "I've seen the dealer insist on choosing the guys _for_ the victim."

"This just keeps getting better," Joey said brightly, smiling at Snuffy. "Let's see," he continued, fingering the king of hearts, "I say this one's McAllister."

"That's nasty," Phil said, but he was grinning, too. "And this is Gilman," he added, tapping the king of spades.

"You fuckers," Snuffy groaned.

Ric made a _tsk_ sound and pointed to the king of diamonds. "Hey, now, take it easy on him. I say we give him a break by throwing Parker into the mix."

Billy cackled. "And the Old Mouse, just to be safe." He waved the king of clubs right in Snuffy's face before placing it back on the ratty carpet.

Snuffy was fuming. "I hope you all fucking crash on the way back home."

"Just for that," Hank said, "I get to pick the first question. O Four Kings, tell me! Who's gonna blow our charming Mr. Bradberry up in the bell tower?"

* * *

Joey tucked the magazine back into the seat-pocket in front of him. "I hate those crosswords. Do they think they're writing for infants or something?"

Billy shrugged and leaned over to kiss Joey's ear, still flipping through _AirMall_.

"Anything interesting?" Joey sighed, staring out the window. They'd just taken off, his least favorite part. 

Billy pried his hand off the edge of the seat again and held it. "Fake rocks with a hollow spot so you can hide keys in your garden. Too bad they don't make one big enough for hiding a pair of pliers," Billy said, looking up at the Airfone on the seat in front of them. He fingered the raised buttons lovingly.

"I never used one of those," Joey said. _I bet you're just itching to tear it apart_.

"I did, once. Dad had to call Mom and tell her we'd be landing half an hour late. He let me say hi."

"Clear reception?"

Billy folded the magazine over and stuffed it back in the pocket. "Kinda fuzzy-sounding. Why, did you promise Gina you'd give her a call?"

"Funny, I thought maybe _you'd_ done that." The plane tilted a little, and Joey fought the impulse to look out the window again, squeezing Billy's hand instead.

Billy's eyes softened. "That really bugs you."

Joey shrugged. "Yeah, it does. We were in a pretty bad storm when I was a kid. I don't do that well with turbulence."

Billy grinned, but he managed to bite back a laugh. "Turbulence? Joey, that's _nothing_."

"Fine. I don't do well with _motion_ ," Joey said, pretending to wipe the smile off Billy's face with the tips of his fingers. _Asshole, I love you_.

Billy glanced back the aisle. "Phil and Ric are in the last row. Didn't get seats together, I guess."

"At least they're in first class with the rest of us. Would've hated to listen to Phil bitch about coach." Joey could hear Snuffy and Hank loudly debating one of the articles in _Rolling Stone_ somewhere behind them. Joey shifted closer against Billy. _Thank God for movable arm rests_.

Billy's breath danced across his cheek. "Sky's pretty," he commented.

Joey tore his eyes away from the sunset and turned his head enough for a kiss, quick and soft. That didn't really require an answer—just a look. 

Billy's eyes caught the light something fierce. He leaned in and whispered, "So are you."

"Practicing for that phone call?" It came out rather choked. Joey's cheeks felt hot.

"Mmm," Billy murmured thoughtfully. "No."

"Fine," Joey replied, lowering his voice. He chanced another unblinking rendezvous with Billy's gaze, even though it might prove dangerous. "Your eyes look like fucking amber."

"With bugs?" Billy asked hopefully.

"Maybe if a fly smashes into the window." Joey barely prevented himself from cracking up. _Is this a flirt or a comedy routine?_

"Why not a mosquito?" Billy looked crushed.

Joey bit his lip, hard. "I don't think your eyes are big enough."

"Drinks?"

Billy glanced over his shoulder at the stewardess. "No thanks. Joey?"

"No." Geez, what was it with chicks busting in on them lately?

She gave them a half-smile and moved on with the cart.

"Is it just me, or do they like it as much as some guys like girl-on-girl?"

Joey blushed in spite of himself. "Fuck if I know."

The main lights flickered out, leaving the plane awash in dull grey-white. "Getting dark already," Billy observed. "You sure you don't want a drink?"

Joey fished the bunched-up blanket out from behind them and draped it back over his shoulders. "Yeah, you?"

"Very," Billy said, snagging one corner gracefully and pulling it entirely over Joey, slipping an arm around him. "Won't be a very long flight, anyway."

Joey tensed for a minute, then relaxed against him. No one gave a shit, except maybe the stewardess, but it wasn't like she could hang over their shoulders the whole time. "Nope. But I still should have thought to get down the notebook or something."

" _I'm_ not bored," Billy said. His hand slid up from Joey's side to his belly, a slight, warm pressure.

Joey shifted involuntarily, closing his eyes. "You can't be serious," he said under his breath.

"What if I am?" Billy said softly. Caressing now, slipping one finger in between the buttons to brush Joey's skin.

Joey squeezed his eyes more tightly shut, sucking in his breath. "You can't keep quiet."

Billy undid a couple of buttons carefully, pressing a kiss against Joey's hair. "This isn't about me. No—keep your eyes closed. You're _sleeping_."

Joey's heart raced. He could just picture Billy—cheek pressed against Joey's hair, staring out the window absently, as if he weren't entertaining a thought in the world of partially undressing Joey under a blanket. "Yeah, but I—"

"Get back at me later," Billy suggested. "We'll be getting in at what, about nine-thirty their time?" He was tugging Joey's shirt up, rolling it under. _Shit_.

"Ten-thirty by the time we get to the hotel," Joey said, trying his best to sound drowsy. Which was really, _really_ fucking difficult with Billy's fingers teasing the button of his jeans.

"Shhh. Take a nap," Billy suggested, his fingers pausing briefly. Joey heard the beverage cart rattle past.

"Okay." Joey forced himself to breathe evenly as Billy resumed, smoothly working the button free and dipping under to steal a touch. _Yeah, you fucker, I'm hard_.

Billy's breath quickened a little, but Joey doubted anyone else would notice. The stewardess wouldn't be coming around anymore, and the old couple right across from them were both reading. Last Joey had seen, anyway, but it was too late to worry about that. Billy used his thumb to silence Joey's zipper, slowly pushing it down. _Too_ slowly. Joey arched up a little, as much as he dared.

"Be patient." Scarcely breathed, not even the ghost of a whisper. "Good thing you're wearing boxers."

Joey bit his lip again, trying not to gasp as Billy's fingers found him through the thin cotton. This was a hell of a lot more fun than it should be.

"One more thing," Billy breathed, pressing a kiss against his temple, slipping his fingertips inside Joey's boxers. "In or—"

Joey clapped Billy's hand down tight. "Less of a mess is good," he whispered, turning his face in against Billy's neck, praying that it passed for a shift in his sleep. 

Billy wriggled his hand just enough to get Joey to let go. Squeezing him a little bit, stroking tenderly. Billy's breath quickened again.

 _Oh, God_. Joey bit his lip harder, nowhere near laughing this time. All he could think about was the first time Billy had done this, which was improving things as much as it _wasn't_.

Billy's breath hitched, almost like saying, _Fuck that!_ His hand skated up to Joey's belly and wormed under his waistband in one smooth movement.

Joey couldn't think. Enough to keep quiet, maybe, but he wasn't sure if that counted as thinking. Billy was just _holding_ him, as if he might break any second. Joey pressed up, begging. It wouldn't take much, couldn't Billy feel it? His heart was beating so hard that his body probably shook with it, with Billy's hand on him, exploring tentatively now as if Joey was unlike anything Billy had ever felt.

 _Mine_. Joey felt it mouthed against his temple before Billy's lips pursed tightly, holding his shallow breathing at bay.

Joey gave a slow, sleepy nod, pushing up into Billy's grip. Firmer now, actually moving. _Yours_.

Billy's fingers faltered a little, trembling. Joey pressed his lips against Billy's skin and slid his hand over Billy's again, steadying him, guiding him. So fucking difficult not to thrust up with every stroke, so _fucking difficult_ not to give in to the taut swell of pleasure and just— _just_ —

"Shhh."

Joey twisted sideways, clinging. _Ohmyfuckinggod_....

"We're almost there." Quiet, soothing.

Billy's arm tight around his waist, Billy's lips against his hair. Belly wet, but he hardly cared. Billy's hand was no better off.

"Yeah," Joey whispered shakily. 

Billy kissed his cheek. "You really _are_ beautiful, y'know."

Joey nuzzled closer against Billy's neck and whimpered.

* * *

"No _fucking_ way," Ricardo said, tightening his grip on his suitcase as the limousine pulled up to the curb.

"Hotel Monaco," Snuffy said, know-it-all as usual. "What did you expect, a yellow cab?"

Ric didn't say anything, but he was grinning too widely to have taken Snuffy's insult to heart.

Joey closed his eyes and took a lungful of the evening air. Very warm, a little humid. "It's in the business district," Joey said, "but really close to the French Quarter and Bourbon St. and all that. Made sure of it." He had given Snuffy the contact information after his father had made a reservation for him and Billy two weeks before. 

"I'm lucky my folks agreed to this place," Phil muttered, watching the chauffeur pop the trunk. "If we weren't doubling up, man, the tab would hurt."

"Oh, it would _not_ ," Billy countered, leaving it at that.

"I'm not sharing a bed with Snuffy," Ric said matter-of-factly, handing his suitcase over to be loaded. "Ever see his sheets? He must kick all night."

"I'm not sharing a bed with _you_ ," Hank said pointedly, actually giving the guy a hand with their stuff. "You and that single of yours, who _knows_ what shit you're used to—"

"Fine. Hank shares with me, Phil shares with you," Snuffy snapped at Ric. "Happy?"

Billy rolled his eyes and took Joey's suitcase from him, setting it on the curb with his own. "Joey sleeps like a log," he said placidly.

"No, it's just that he actually makes his fucking bed," Phil chimed in, peering through one of the limousine's darkened windows.

"Hey, beggars can't be choosers," Joey said with a shrug. "If you were that worried about it, you should've booked single rooms over a suite."

"Just how far away are you two, anyway?" Ric asked. "In case I need a place to crash when these losers get too fucking smashed."

"Next floor up, but we haven't got two beds like you guys," Billy sighed ruefully.

"Fuckin' cheapskates," Snuffy said as the chauffeur slammed the trunk. He was the first to crawl in when the door opened.

If anything, the ride was a little crammed, but the air conditioning made it bearable. Joey was tired again, and even though he didn't feel much like noting the scenery, he caught glimpses over Billy's shoulder here and there—brick buildings, trees hung with moss, so much _green_. A favorable change from the bleak winter landscape of the northeast, certainly. New Jersey had decided upon a menu that consisted almost entirely of freezing rain, and according to Billy's accounts, Connecticut continued to favor blizzards. Joey shifted in his seat and stretched. A shower would _definitely_ be welcome.

St. Charles avenue was—well, _elegant_. More than Joey had expected, that was for sure. Somehow, the term "business district" had always evoked images of the modern and mundane, but in this case, it was far from the truth. Maybe because it was just a stone's throw from the Quarter and everything, but wow. _I guess you're good for something, Dad,_ Joey thought, glancing up several stories of he hotel's gleaming white facade. Joey listened to the others bicker while the chauffeur pulled their luggage free. Billy already had their suitcases, and he was glancing up and down the street curiously. There was some kind of jazz playing on the next block, probably drifting from one of the temptingly lit establishments visible at regular intervals. _Mm, dinner_.

Billy caught Joey's eyes and smiled. "Check-in?"

"We should wait," Joey said, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking over to him.

"They'll be arguing over tips all night."

"We owe him, too."

Billy shouldered his carry-on, handing Joey his own. "Took care of it," he said, picking both suitcases up with ease. "Let's go."

"Hey, um—guys? Lobby in an hour? For dinner," Joey suggested over his shoulder. Billy was already halfway to the entrance.

"Whatever," Snuffy called back. "Hank's shampoo busted."

* * *

"Gotcha!" Billy's towel landed over Joey's head before he could grab another off the rack.

Joey struggled, but Billy had him in a vise-grip about the shoulders, trapping the towel in place. "Hey! I'm gonna suffocate!"

"Wouldn't want that." Billy let go just as quickly as he'd pounced. Joey staggered a little, but Billy caught his arm and dragged him in for a kiss, letting the towel fall on the damp tile floor. 

"You dickhead," Joey muttered against his mouth. Billy's skin was hot under his fingers, and they were both dripping wet.

"A whole fucking five _days_ of you," Billy said, licking at the water on Joey's neck. "Without your Dad or _anybody_ to worry about."

"The guys," Joey managed, but his heart wasn't really in it. Billy had reached over his shoulder to snag a fresh towel and was rubbing his hair dry with it. _Mmm_.

"The guys? Fuck 'em. No worse than school." Billy was drying Joey's back and shoulders now, kissing Joey's shoulder while he was at it. "Hell of a lot _better_ than school, if you ask me."

"No shit," Joey laughed. "We're in fucking New Orleans." Billy was on his sides now; it tickled.

"Hey, did you see in the thing?" Billy asked, rubbing at Joey's chest. "The suites have hot tubs. Those lucky bastards."

"I'm sure we'll get the chance to mooch." Joey snatched the towel away from him and slung it back over the rack, then retrieved the one that Billy had dropped. "Maybe we can strike a deal with Ric. Some alone time here in exchange for the tub, or something like that."

"Or find a way to blackmail Snuffy, Jesus," Billy remarked, leaning in to let Joey dry his hair. "What's _with_ him?"

"I was wrong," Joey said grimly. "Phil's not the jealous one."

"Oh, fucking hell," Billy grumbled.

Joey looped the towel around his neck and kissed him. "It's not me, though, if that's what you think."

Billy held on, prolonging the kiss, slow and easy, a bit broken up. "Then what...hmmm...d'you think it is?"

Joey pulled back and whipped the towel around Billy's shoulders, grinning. "Hank."

* * *

"Fucking goldfish, man!" Phil said, slapping his menu down on the table. "You can get a goldfish in your room, no extra charge."

"I'd _hope_ not," Ric said, studying the appetizers.

"You can?" Joey put his menu down. 

"Yeah, I saw this bellhop-looking guy carrying a goddamn fishbowl, so I asked if it was somebody's pet," Snuffy said, eager to take the story over, "and he said no, but if we wanted one, just call down to the desk. The maid service feeds it for you and everything!"

"Who's gonna have time for a goldfish on this trip? Not me," Hank said, snatching the drinks menu away from Phil.

"No good," Phil sighed. "They'll card us here."

"Not at some of the dives on Bourbon Street, I'll bet," Ric said hopefully.

" _I'll_ have time for a goldfish," Snuffy said acidly.

"Let's get one," Billy suggested.

"No putting it in the hot tub," Joey warned no one in particular. Who _knew_ what Phil and Ric might do.

"Seeing as we don't _have_ one..."

Joey turned his head in alarm. "Billy!"

"Joking. Not in the bathtub or sink, either," he said helpfully. "How about on the nightstand?"

"I hope he doesn't mind your snoring."

"I don't snore!" Billy protested.

"I hope the damn fish likes your taste in music," Hank said to Snuffy. "I was hoping we wouldn't have a place to play those god-awful—"

"The CD player, I'm okay with," Ric said. "But keep the fish away from my shit, got it?"

Phil folded the menu up and slid it aside. "Shrimp, anyone?"

"We're gonna end up with two," Joey told Billy solemnly, eyeing Ric with suspicion.

"Shrimp?" Snuffy asked, confused.

"No," Billy said. "Fish."

* * *

"God, if all the food around here's that good, I'll never stop eating," Billy said, pulling the thick covers down with a yawn. He flopped down on the mattress and sighed, glancing over at Joey. "And if all the fish around here are that cute, you'll never come to bed."

Joey stood up, brushing at the marks the carpet left in his shins. "The front desk said they don't have names." He watched the goldfish snap at a bubble floating along the wall of its bowl. Pretty little thing, white with a gold spot on its head. "Good night," he said, bending down for a last look. The bowl had gravel, a plant, and even a little castle.

Billy rolled to face Joey, holding the covers up for him. "So what do we call it?"

"Nothing. It wouldn't feel right, since we have to give it back," Joey said, climbing in beside him. "I bet the staff in charge of the fish have named them all, anyway." Joey flopped down on his back and helped pull the covers up.

Billy leaned over, brushing Joey's hair back. "Just thought I'd ask," he said, kissing Joey's forehead. "Since Snuffy thought it was pressing enough to call over here and announce the christening of theirs."

Joey rolled his eyes and tangled his fingers in Billy's hair, tugging him down for a proper kiss. " 'Bitch' is hardly a decent name."

Billy shrugged and kissed him again. "What if it really _is_ a bitch?"

"Goldfish aren't smart enough to be bitchy, no offense," Joey said, grinning. "Bettas, maybe."

"Oh, those Siamese Fighting Fish?"

Joey blinked. "Yeah. I had two in junior high. Kind of miss 'em."

"My Mom had a red one," Billy said, settling in and using Joey for a body pillow. "She kept it in a fucking wineglass. I thought it didn't have enough room, so I dumped it in the ocean while we were on vacation."

Joey was tempted to crack up, but the opposite reflex was stronger. "You fucker, that killed it! They're freshwater!"

He could feel Billy grinning against his shoulder. "I was six years old, Joey."

"Oh." Joey decided that maybe, just _maybe_ , it was all right to laugh.

* * *

"What the _fuck_..." Billy's voice was groggy, followed by a clatter and a ringing _clunk_. "Hello?"

Joey rolled over and buried his face in the pillow, not bothering to open his eyes. He was gonna _kill_ Snuffy.

"Yeah, would you mind telling me what the hell _time_ it is? Eight o'clock? Yeah, I fucking thought so. Didn't we say—"

Joey snorted. Snuffy was all about organizing things, except it usually just got everybody pissed off at him.

Billy's fingers slid up his back, caressing lightly. "A what? You want to go on a fucking _tour?_ At ten- _thirty?_ Snuffy, slow down. What _kind_ of tour?"

Joey couldn't help but laugh. Billy wasn't nearly awake enough for this. Joey rolled over and held out his hand. "Give me the phone."

Billy handed it over and sprawled out on his stomach beside Joey with a groan.

"I hope you two didn't have plans or anything," Snuffy said. Smirking again, damn him.

"No, but _we_ had plans to meet for breakfast at ten, asshole. That coffee house on the next block that we saw in the directory." Joey rolled over and brushed a kiss against Billy's shoulder, feeling defiant.

"I found something more interesting," Snuffy protested, and Joey could hear the rustle of a brochure. "They do these airboat tours out on the bayou. How cool is that? We can get a ride from here at half past ten."

"Snuffy, has it even _occurred_ to you that we have five days to figure this shit out?" Joey had to bite his lip, as Billy had rolled over and taken an active interest in nuzzling his neck.

"Only four after today," Snuffy reminded him. "Hank thinks it's is a cool idea, too."

Joey hissed at him and tangled his fingers in Billy's hair, exasperated. "Today hasn't even started. What about Phil and Ric?"

"Phil's in the shower. Hank's trying to wake Ric up."

What a fucking nightmare. "Well, you know what? Go ahead. As far as I'm concerned, _we'll_ be at the coffee shop at ten, and whoever else shows up, shows up, and we'll plan things like civilized people."

Snuffy made a sound of protest. "But—"

"Goodbye." Joey tossed the phone over Billy's side and listened to its landing on the carpet.

"You'll scare the fish," Billy murmured, rolling over on top of Joey, his mouth warm and insistent.

"I'll tell it I'm sorry." Joey closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Billy. He wouldn't _mind_ kissing Billy all day, as much as he wanted to see what lay just outside their window. Good thing Snuffy had gotten them up an hour early, he supposed. _Mmm_.

"C'mon," Billy protested a minute later. "It's either a boy or a girl. Just because we're not gonna name it doesn't mean we should talk about it like—I don't know, like it's a _thing_."

"Fine," Joey laughed, squirming against Billy till they fit together more comfortably. "I think it's a girl."

"Me too." Another kiss, deep and thoughtful.

"We could give her a _nickname_. That's pretty harmless. Like you guys did with Snuffy."

Joey huffed against Billy's cheek, feeling a bit overheated under Billy's weight and the Italian linens and the sunlight glaring off the white comforter. "Yeah, you have a point," he said, giving a couple of useless kicks at the covers till Billy got the idea and awkwardly shoved them down. "What should we call her?"

"Wish I could remember the name of that voodoo witch I read about."

Joey dug his toenails playfully into Billy's calf. "She's too fucking cute for that."

"Gina?" Billy suggested with a teasing wiggle.

"You're obsessed," Joey sighed, closing his eyes with a smile. He fucking _loved_ mornings.

"I hope Bitch and Gina get along." More wiggling, Billy's breath against his cheek. That tone of voice meant business, no matter what the words were.

Joey hoped a kiss was good enough for an answer.

* * *

Phil shoved a whole beignet in his mouth and took a sip of his coffee. "Bourbon Street," he mumbled. "I don't care what the fuck else we do, just as long as we go there. Repeatedly."

"That's more for night life," Ric pointed out, swilling his latte around. "We should do some preliminary scouting this evening."

"You gonna eat that?" Phil asked, indicating his beignet, of which Ric had only taken one small bite.

Ric made a face. "No. It's too sweet." 

"We should do the bayou tour one of these mornings," Snuffy said sulkily. "Early in the day, before it gets too hot."

"Yeah, and not in the evening," Hank pointed out, acting as reinforcement. "Before the mosquitos come out."

"I say we do it tomorrow just to shut you up," Billy suggested, taking a bite out of one of his own doughnuts.

Joey shrugged, sipping his tea. "I don't have a problem with that."

"Of course you don't," Snuffy muttered.

"Shutting you up? Nope." Joey finished off his beignet before Snuffy could start an argument. Too nice a place for that, creepers on the brick outside and sort of sienna-washed walls on the inside. Paintings by local artists hung all over the place. Joey hoped they were for sale.

"Too bad it's not Mardi Gras," Ric sighed, staring out the window. The girl walking past wasn't half bad-looking.

"I'm sure Parker would've loved giving us off for that," Billy snorted into his coffee.

"There are lots of costume shops open year 'round," Joey said. "Masks and everything."

Snuffy dropped his beignet and brightened. "That's just what I need."

"Still looking for a costumer?" Joey asked.

Snuffy gave him a flat look. "Yes, but you _know_ where I need you the most."

"I told you, I'm not gonna audition," Joey said flatly. "Find your Titania somewhere else."

"Looks like we'll have to do the same for Oberon," Snuffy countered, glaring at Billy.

Billy threw his hands up. "Look, I'll make it up to you. Set design? Special effects?"

Snuffy's eyes narrowed. "Stage manager."

"Coming from the guy who has his heart set on _Bottom_..." Phil was snickering.

"Coming from the guy who said he wouldn't mind playing _Puck_ —"

"Off-topic," Ric declared. "So what's the deal for today? Bourbon Street? Costume shops? Is that all we've got?"

"Costume shops, _then_ Bourbon Street," Hank corrected him. He'd downed at least four beignets and had powdered sugar on his chin.

"There's a historic walking tour," Billy said, leaning across the table to tap one of the brochures fanned out in front of Snuffy. "I'm really curious about this place."

Joey plucked up a different one, getting powdered sugar all over the corner. "There's a ghost tour, too."

"There are ghost tours all over the place," Hank scoffed. "Mom made me go on one in Colonial Williamsburg. Pretty boring."

"Less boring than the history tour," Snuffy said reasonably.

" _I'm_ going on the history tour before we leave, whether somebody else goes or not," Billy insisted.

"No one said we have to stick together the whole time," Ric pointed out, finishing his coffee.

Joey took a long swig of his tea. "Let's decide what we all want to do, then, and splinter off from there."

"Bayou tour?" Snuffy proposed to the table at large, raising his hand.

Hank, Phil, and Ric all raised their hands. Joey shrugged and raised his own. It could be interesting.

"Fine, then we'll do that tomorrow morning, bright and early," Billy said, giving Snuffy a rather blunt look.

"Okay," Snuffy said, ignoring it. "Bourbon Street as necessary. No need to vote on that. Costume shops?"

Joey raised his hand immediately. So did Snuffy, but Phil and Hank looked utterly bored with the prospect. Billy's hand was up, too.

"I guess we could just split up and go browsing as soon as we finish here," Ric concluded. "Make sure we all have maps. Just because everything's within walking distance doesn't mean we won't get fucking lost," he said, looking straight at Snuffy.

Everybody cracked up. Pretty hard to get lost in Cambridge, but Snuffy had managed it. 

"I hate you."

"Come on, what else?" Billy said. "I'm not gonna shop _all_ day." He chanced an apologetic look at Joey.

"There's the plantation," Phil said, picking up another brochure. "Houmas House. Looks gorgeous."

"That's a cab fare you definitely want to split," Ric said. "I'll go."

"Anybody else?"

"Today?" Joey asked. He'd glanced at the brochure in the lobby last night and wasn't overly enthusiastic.

"Why not," Ric said. "This afternoon's wide open."

"Count us in," Snuffy said, evidently speaking for Hank, who had his mouth full of a beignet Snuffy hadn't eaten.

"We're going on the walking tour instead," Joey said, looking at Phil. Billy was probably grinning to himself.

"That's right, scout the area," Ric said. "You two are good at that."

"Done," Billy said, wiping his fingers on a napkin.

* * *

Snuffy frowned at the tiny map in the brochure, trying to keep the wind from folding the whole thing over on him. "Lafayette Square has shopping, this says. It's up two blocks towards Girod Street."

"Probably chain stores," Joey said, shading his eyes. The Quarter was in the opposite direction.

"It'll only take two minutes to get to Lafayette, though," Billy reasoned. "Let's give it a shot. We said we'd meet up with the rest of 'em at what, three?"

"Yeah," Snuffy said, folding the brochure up, satisfied. "Plantation tour's at four."

"Ours is at a quarter till five," Joey reminded Billy.

Billy grinned at him. "I'm sure we won't die of boredom."

Snuffy rolled the brochure up and shoved it in his pocket, decisively looking the other way. "Let's go."

"What's gotten into him, really?" Billy asked in a low voice once Snuffy had gotten sufficiently ahead of them.

Joey glanced at the current street sign, then started across, tugging Billy with him. "I told you. I think he's jealous," he said with a shrug. "Not mean, nasty, I-wanna-break-you-two-up jealous, just—"

"God, we're no better than girls." Billy was smirking at Snuffy, who was half a block ahead of them, paused and glancing impatiently over his shoulder.

Joey cleared his throat and ducked into the awning's shadow once they were back a sidewalk. "As I was saying, I think he needs to get some," he said, picking up his pace. Snuffy would suspect something.

Billy jogged to catch up with Joey, laughing. "I didn't realize you were saying _that_."

"That's what it boils down to."

"He's gonna be waiting a while," Billy said under his breath. "Hank's clueless."

Joey shrugged and cast him a sidelong glance. "Or not. I think they're both too fucking shy—well, not shy like _that_ , I don't think Snuffy could be shy if he tried, but you know what I—"

"Discussing the shopping list?" Snuffy called, finally caving in and running to meet them halfway.

"Maybe," Joey said, putting his hands in his pockets. "You're thinking Shakespearean. Looking for masks?" Joey tapped his fingers along the sketchbook tucked under his arm.

"I'm just along for the ride," Billy said.

Snuffy glanced around uncertainly. "You're right, we'll probably have better luck in the Quarter."

"We're almost to the Square," Joey said, nudging him in the arm. "Might as well keep going." _Because if this Lafayette has anything to do with_... There were fewer businesses now, some really gorgeous houses. Things starting to bloom, it looked like, lots of creepers. Some stereotypes were just... _true_.

Billy snagged the brochure out of Snuffy's pocket and opened it. "Hey, we're getting into the Garden District."

 _Hell yeah!_ Joey kept walking. No _way_ he was stopping, even if they didn't find shops.

"Don't tell me you're going to drag me through that damn cemetery," Snuffy said, narrowing his eyes. 

"Only if it's the same place," Joey reassured him, but he was pretty sure it was.

Billy folded the brochure back up and tossed it at Snuffy. "What's the matter? We're in broad daylight."

"You assholes," Snuffy muttered, scuffing along beside them. "So much for getting a start on the play."

Joey rolled his eyes. "Look, we're _exploring_ , too, okay? If you're gonna have a one track mind about things, I suggest you turn around and find the Quarter your—"

"Look there."

Billy had fallen behind them. Joey turned around and saw him paused in front of a brick building, peering into a rather brightly-colored window. Talk about a one-track mind: Joey hadn't even noticed it, and neither had Snuffy. The arguing thing was getting old fast. Joey glanced at Snuffy and tilted his head in the direction of the shop.

"Might be interesting, huh?" The place had a battered sign, pretty much unreadable.

"Yeah," Snuffy said, backtracking to the window. 

Joey followed, hanging back with Billy as Snuffy barged through the shop's front door. It bounced once, jangling.

"Tough trip," Billy muttered, leaning to kiss Joey's chin. "I say we ditch 'em all."

"Oh, come on," Joey said with a wry grin. "It's only the first day." He kissed Billy on the mouth, then headed up the steps.

Close and dark, somewhat dusty. The place looked like it hadn't seen much business since Mardi Gras, but the proprietress, a white-haired woman on a stool behind the counter, probably kept the place open out of sheer stubbornness. She had that kind of look about her—not exactly old, but definitely getting there. Determined. Might have been beautiful once. Joey leaned against the wall beside a rack of feather boas and flipped the cover of his sketchbook back. 

Billy sidled up close, watching the point of Joey's pencil. "Mannequin?" he asked, nodding at Snuffy studying a flashy sequined gown on...er, a thing that looked vaguely human. 

"No," Joey said, glancing up briefly at the woman. Her head was bent over a magazine on the glass-topped counter.

Billy hummed, then stepped over to run his fingers through the feathers. "You'll end up with some great portraits."

"Hey, Joey," Snuffy called, holding something blindingly magenta on a hanger up against his chest. Shit, there wasn't _enough_ of it to sparkle like that. "Why don't you try it on?"

Joey flicked his eyes back down to the page, concentrating on the contour of the woman's head. "Not sure that's my size."

"Why don't _you_ model it for us?" Billy suggested, busily arranging one of the boas around his neck. Hideous blue.

Joey bit on his eraser so he couldn't laugh at Snuffy's indignant squawk. "Sorry, Billy, but I think that'll clash," he retorted, slamming the—um, what the hell _was_ that?—back on the rack. 

Billy snagged an outrageously tall wizard's hat off another nearby model and plunked it on his head. "How do I look?"

Joey bit his eraser again, just looking at him, determined not to say anything. _Add Snuffy's dress and you'd be a really low-budget Oberon in drag_.

"Out with it," Snuffy said. He was on _tiptoe_ from the other side of another rack, all fucking ears.

Billy just smirked.

"Defies description," Joey said, feigning defeat. "Guess I'll have to draw it."

Billy tore the hat off and put it back. "No you don't."

"Better hurry up and strip down," Snuffy chided.

"What the hell kind of Shakespeare are you after?" Billy asked, draping the boa over the arm of the rack.

"At this point," Snuffy said, sounding discouraged, "I think Oger will take whatever he can get. D'you have any idea how hard it is to get guys to try out for a production where some of them will end up playing women?"

Joey glanced up and saw that the woman was watching them. He looked down again and penciled her eyes in quickly.

Billy folded his arms. "So? That's how they used to do it. What's the big deal?"

"Says Mr. First-in-line-to-try-out," Snuffy countered, shoving a pair of sequined shoes back in a box.

"Hey, cut it out." Joey gave Snuffy a warning look and captured the woman's profile in the upper corner of the page, just a hair-thin stroke, before moving back to her nose. Tricky.

Snuffy sighed heavily, rummaging through the contents of a nearby jewelry box. Some of it was probably secondhand stuff. "I hope you know what you're missing," he muttered, holding a huge marcasite ring up to the dim light.

"I hope you know you're being too pushy," Billy said, flashing the proprietress a charming smile.

She was watching them, kind of smiling herself. "Actors, are you?"

"He is," Billy said, pointing at Snuffy without hesitation.

Snuffy floundered for a minute before turning around and meeting the woman's expectant gaze. "Yeah, you might say that."

She fingered one of her dangling beaded earrings, still smiling harmlessly. "Give me a speech, and I'll give you the whole box for ten."

Joey grinned, shading the cleft of her upper lip with his pencil. This was gonna be good.

Snuffy glared at Billy for a split second, then took a deep breath. He squared his shoulders proudly and began.

"If we shadows have offended, think but this, and all is mended..."

... _think but this, and all is mended: that you have but slumbered here as these visions did appear_. Joey only half heard the words. He watched Billy's smile fade to something fierce and intent, watched the lines in the woman's face melt into a fairy queen's regal grace. Closed his eyes, let the sketch shade itself.

He had to be dreaming.

* * *

"Okay, um," Billy said, frowning at the brochure. "There's more than one tour starting at quarter till five."

Joey glanced up at him on the bed, his fingertips busy investigating the path his earring back had taken across the carpet. "French Quarter," he said. "I've seen enough of the Garden District for one day." They had managed to find a few other shops, passing Lafayette Cemetery in the process. _Tomorrow_ , Billy had promised him. _We'll come back tomorrow_. 

"Yeah, I have the feeling we'll want to know how to get around," Billy said, dropping the brochure on the floor. "Between Bourbon Street and Canal Street, sounds like Phil's gonna die happy. But we'll have the advantage."

"Like I care about where the strip clubs are," Joey retorted, brushing over something small and cold. _Gotcha!_

Billy slid off the bed and crawled over beside him, watching him replace the earring back. "I meant knowing what street goes where, genius," he said, reaching to tug Joey's earring straight. "I couldn't care less, but I wanna know where the decent music is."

"I hear there's one end of Bourbon that guys like Phil and Ric usually avoid at _all_ costs," Joey said, leaning against Billy.

"What, gay bars?" Billy shrugged and kissed his forehead. "Don't care about that, either."

Joey grinned at him. "I don't know, it could be pretty funny."

Billy tilted his chin up and gave him a look. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I mean if, say, we pretended we _didn't_ know where we were going..." Joey closed his eyes, enjoying the touch. 

Billy chuckled. "We're gonna be late for this thing. Reconnaissance first, pranks later."

Joey snatched the brochure up. "It starts from Decatur Cafe Beignet—hey! We had breakfast there. No rush."

They rushed anyway and found a few other tourists waiting around outside. Billy struck up a discussion with a couple who were probably in college—a guy and a girl who couldn't have been more than twenty-one. Joey slipped away politely to order a couple of cappuccinos, returning just as the tour guide arrived. Short, cheerful-looking guy in his forties with half-moon glasses. He was quick with a joke, though not very good ones, which resulted in Billy rolling his eyes a lot. The two of them walked in silence until they reached the waterfront, not far from the Spanish Plaza. Whatever that was. When the guide started talking again, so did Billy.

"I never thought about it before," Billy mused. "How big the Mississippi is. Fucking _ships_ can navigate this."

Joey nodded, shading his eyes against the sun to scan the opposite bank. "Yeah," he said. "Pretty impressive." He'd need more than a five-minute tour stop to sketch that, for sure.

"The guy just said pirates used to come through here." Billy was staring into the water, eyes alight. "Think there are any wrecks?"

"In the deepest parts, maybe," Joey said, tugging on his hand. "C'mon, we're moving."

Billy caught Joey around the waist and nuzzled his ear. "Arrr!"

"You fucking nutcase," Joey muttered, but he slipped an arm around Billy all the same.

The French Market was next, more kinds of vendors in one place than Joey had ever seen. He wouldn't have minded browsing longer, but the tour guide really didn't allow for that. Billy came up behind him while he was admiring some fresh berries and reminded him that they had the rest of the week. Or almost. They could come back easy. As Billy tugged him away, Joey briefly wondered how much doing it would take to get them a whole day to themselves.

The next stops were a dusty blur: Ursuline Convent, Jean Lafitte Blacksmith Shop. Billy was extremely happy with the latter, and apparently it was what he'd heard about that made him want to go on the tour so goddamn badly. Pirate stories, a bunch of them. With Joey's luck, he'd drag them back to the costume shop for that captain's hat full of ridiculous ostrich feathers. Not that Billy wouldn't look good in it, though. The college couple kept glancing their way every so often, just before exchanging inquisitive looks. Huh, Billy was right. The chick started smiling when she realized Joey was looking back. Probably thought it was cute.

Now, Jackson Square—that was more Joey's speed. Excellent colonial architecture, and there was St. Louis Cathedral right at the heart of it all. Better yet, they were going inside. Billy scuffed his feet over the stones, glancing up at the high, arched doorway as they filed through it. Joey hung back for a moment out of reflex, dipping his fingers in the basin of holy water before crossing himself.

Billy was waiting just inside the sanctuary. "Coming?"

Joey bit his tongue on _later_ and said, "Yeah."

"Seventeen-twenty," Billy said, taking his hand again. "Really old place."

Joey held him back while the rest of the group milled up through the aisle, studying the intricate stained-glass windows above them. He'd always wanted to learn how that was done, but the simple shit they passed for stained-glass in art class wasn't really reliable. He wanted to know how the _masters_ did it.

Billy moved closer, still holding his hand. Kind of shifty, almost as if he wasn't used to this kind of silence. "They have Mass on Tuesdays and Thursdays at six, if you want to come back here, too."

Joey broke his reverie and glanced at him. "I might. Where'd you find that out?"

Billy shrugged and pointed. "The wall."

Right near the confessionals. Shit, Joey hadn't done _that_ in a while.

"Don't let me guilt trip you into it. I don't give a—"

Joey squeezed his hand. "Would you come with me?"

Billy hesitated for a minute, then shrugged. "Sure, why not."

"Thanks." Joey turned his head and smiled, but something else caught his eye. 

"I always thought those looked creepy, even in the daytime," Billy said, trailing after him over to an altar that flickered redly with votives.

Joey fished around in his pocket for some change. A quarter and two pennies.

"Here," Billy said, dropping another quarter into his palm. 

Joey dropped the change in the donations box, reaching for a taper. While Billy watched, he lit the candle in silence.

* * *

"Oh, come _on!_ " Snuffy railed. "This place is famous."

"Where is it?" Phil asked tensely, snatching the brochure away from him. "Corner of Napoleon and...er, Tchoupitoulas."

"That's down by the water," Billy said, tapping on the goldfish bowl. "We passed it on the tour." Bitch, a bright orange blur with bubble-eyes, avoided the path of Billy's finger like the plague. Or maybe ick.

"He doesn't like that," Snuffy said irritably.

"No kidding," Billy said, chuckling as Joey pulled his hand away.

"What is it, anyway?"

"Joey, you ought to appreciate it," Ric said, glancing away from the television. "Live jazz."

"Well, it won't do us any good if I'm the only one who appreciates it." He shoved Billy out of the way and crouched down to give the fish a look. Poor thing.

"Tipitina's," Hank said doubtfully. " _I've_ never heard of it."

Snuffy glared. "So we _obviously_ shouldn't go there."

"I didn't say that," Hank snapped.

Phil stepped up behind Billy and Joey, reaching in to tap the fishbowl. "Steer clear of those two, just for the record."

"I was gonna ask," Billy said wryly.

"No, _don't_ ," Phil said quickly, lowering his voice. "Snuffy shot off his mouth again. Big time."

Joey blinked at Phil, suddenly remembering where they'd been. "You're _kidding_ me."

"He's been a wise-ass before and done it to you, so why not to Hank?" Phil said, shrugging as he stepped back and perched on the edge of the bed. Ric was sitting at the foot of it watching Looney Tunes, oblivious. "I mean, it was a total accident, but still. You don't make a joke about that part of history without paying for it."

"I'm gonna have a talk with him one of these days, I swear to God," Joey groaned, rubbing his forehead.

Snuffy's voice rose behind them, shrill. "Am I the _only_ one around here with any _class?_ "

"I'm all for it, let's go," Hank said forcefully. "That way, I won't be able to hear you above the fucking music!"

Billy glanced at Joey quickly, then at the floor. "Things are looking good for those two, aren't they?"

The place had honest-to-goodness dixie, anyway, and the dimly-lit interior made it easy to shut out the others. They'd been able to get tickets at the door, and even though none of them had heard of the group, the margaritas were good (Billy reassured him, though Joey just kept stealing sips and got a daiquiri instead). Ric was almost-dancing in his seat, what with that fantastic sense of rhythm of his, and Phil seemed to be making an unusually concentrated effort to bond with Snuffy. Hank responded when someone said something to him, but for the most part, he was silent, watching Snuffy watch the stage.

Billy finished his drink and tilted his chair back against the partition, tapping out a rhythm with his fork. "You like the music?"

"It's all right," Joey admitted. "Snuffy's having his fun, Phil's having his dinner, Ric's checking out women. What do I care?"

Billy let his chair come back down hard and speared another piece of fried shrimp, offering it to Joey. "Don't give me that. You care."

Joey picked the shrimp off Billy's fork and ate it in one bite. "Yeah," Joey admitted, "but I don't see how much good it'll do if those two are on the brink of World War III."

"Don't worry," Billy reassured him, stealing a sip of Joey's daiquiri. "Hank doesn't hold a grudge as long as you do."

* * *

" _Ow_."

Joey tugged the pillow out of Billy's hands and chucked it against the headboard, propping himself up on one elbow. "Three margaritas. Are you _sure_ all you had was three margaritas?" Joey frowned at Billy's eyes all squinched up against the light and tugged the pillow back over his face. "Billy?"

"Yeah, Joey. Fuck, you saw me drink 'em." Billy sounded pathetic.

Joey rubbed his eyes and burrowed under the pillow, gently slapping Billy's cheek. "Next question: what was _in_ the margaritas?"

"I don't know," Billy said, exasperated. "What they _usually_ put in margaritas? Tequila, lime juice, flavoring, ice?"

Joey frowned. Tequila, he knew the taste of tequila, but that was only because Billy had made him learn it. In the few sips he'd taken, sure, there'd been tequila, but it had bitten his tongue a lot worse than just—

"You should've read the damn menu," Joey concluded grimly. "I think their recipe is...um, kinda forceful."

Billy groaned and rolled onto his side, knocking the pillow askew as he curled up against Joey's chest.

Joey shoved the pillow away completely and lifted his head, straining to steal a glance at the clock through Gina's bowl. _Dammit!_ They had to get up in half an hour. Breakfast, then that bayou tour. Snuffy had reserved them places on the shuttle for ten. _Godfuckingdammit_.

"Lemme guess," Billy said, words muffled against Joey's skin, tickling a bit. "We're late?"

"Not yet, anyway," Joey sighed, tugging Billy's arm loose. "Let me up."

Billy clung to him harder. " 'The fuck are _you_ going?"

"To get you some water, and you had better hope I remembered the aspirin," Joey muttered, kissing Billy's forehead before slipping out of bed.

"There's Pepto-Bismol in my bag," Billy said weakly.

"At least _somebody_ was thinking ahead." Joey shook his head, grinning. As wrong as it was, he couldn't help it.

By the time he got Billy showered and more or less on his feet, Joey was seriously beginning to doubt they'd make the tour at all. Phil called just as they were on their way out the door, sounding kind of nervous.

"Are you sure?" Joey asked, biting his lip against another urge to laugh. God, why was all of this so fucking funny?

"Yeah, man," Phil said dully. "He's in bad shape. Can't breathe."

"You mean athsma-attack can't breathe, or just stuffed-up can't breathe?" Joey asked incredulously. 

Billy was sprawled out on the bed, probably wrinkling his shirt beyond hope of easy ironing. _Huh?_ he mouthed.

 _Snuffy_. Joey pulled his hand away from the mouthpiece, pacing over to sit on the edge of the bed. Billy's arms looped around his waist immediately, warm mouth pressed to the small of his back, making a damp spot in his shirt. Joey squirmed and asked Phil, "Do you have any idea what did it? Is he allergic to fish food or some weird shit like that?"

"Two words," Phil said, sounding gradually more amused. "Cayenne pepper."

"Oh, Jesus," Joey laughed. "The catfish!"

"Yeah," Phil agreed, "must've been. That jambalaya we had last night, it was on the tame side. But you know me—I don't like fish."

"D'you think we should bother?" 

"With the tour? Snuffy's indignant. He wants to go anyway."

Joey let his breath hiss out long and hard instead of laughing again. "Hey, whatever. I hope he doesn't bitch the whole time on the boat."

Phil laughed, too. "He will anyway."

"You know what's fucking rich, Billy here— _hey!_ "

"Hi, Phil?" Billy said into the receiver, struggling to pin Joey's arm behind his back. "We'll be— _ah_ , God—no, headache—down in five. Seeya."

Billy dropped the phone almost immediately and swore, letting go of Joey. "Fucker, I can _pass_ for functional. The last thing I need is..."

Joey was almost on the floor, laughing too hard to care.

The morning air was surprisingly cool, but maybe that was because they'd gotten out of the city. Billy kept his eyes closed for most of the drive, stubbornly silent as he leaned against the window, but Snuffy was another story. By the time they got out to the dock, Hank had taken to holding his headphones in his ears to ward off Ric's persistent attempts to "borrow" them. Phil, on the other hand, had been perfectly intent to respond to Snuffy's bellyaching with loud protests of his own.

"I'm _not_ sitting by you again," Phil informed him, tugging Ric into line behind him.

Snuffy glared and stuffed a tattered bit of Kleenex back in his pocket, sniffing defiantly.

Billy shoved him up behind Ric and tugged Joey along. " _I_ will, as long as you keep your mouth shut."

"Having a hard time talking anyway," Snuffy said over-graciously. Man, he sounded miserable. Worse than Billy with his hangover.

"Did you forget your meds again?" Hank asked over Joey's shoulder, the first thing Joey had heard him say to Snuffy all morning.

Snuffy nodded and shrugged. "Too late now."

"Genius," Hank snapped, sounding annoyed, but concerned. "Anyone seen a pharmacy?"

Billy didn't have to turn his head for Joey to know he was grinning widely.

"Not likely to find one at a place called Bayou Gauche," Ric said, staring out across the sun-dappled water at the opposite bank. Really grassy, gorgeous trees swaying overhead. No wonder they could breathe. Well, except Snuffy.

"The place is privately-owned, the brochure said," Joey remarked, "so I don't know—looks great. Not what you picture when you think of a swamp."

The boat was made to hold maybe ten people, but they were the only ones on it. The guide waved Phil, Ric, and Snuffy into the back row and the rest of them into the front. Joey leaned up against the railing and stared into the murky water, watching the shape of a fish pass. He wondered how many gators they'd see, if any.

"I'd love to have one of these things," Billy said, tapping Joey on the arm. "Look at that. You steer from the back, sitting in front of that big wheel thing."

"Looks kinda dangerous."

"It looks _fun_ , that's what," Hank said, slapping Billy a high five. 

Joey sat back and gazed up through the leaves and ropes of hanging moss. He could hear the motor starting up and the guide telling them to make sure their arms were inside the boat. Easy enough; Billy had his hand draped casually over Joey's against the seat, and Joey was picking at a stray thread at the hem of his jean shorts with the other. Snuffy had been leaning over the railing from the sound of things, letting one arm dangle.

The waterways were like paths, almost—broad, winding avenues through endless stretches of that bright green blade-grass and scattered purple irises. The sun was high in no time, heating the air and the surface of the water. More fish were coming up to the surface, looking for insects or offerings from the riders. Joey regretted not tucking one of the bagels from breakfast into his pocket. The guide was saying something about "flotons", and it took Joey a minute to realize he meant that some of those mats of greenery actually _floated_ there on the water, like...geez, soggy bath-mat islands or something. And those irises floated right along with them!

"That's amazing," Joey murmured.

"Hm?" Billy hadn't been paying attention to the guide, but he'd been paying a lot of puzzled attention to something off to their left— _whoa!_

"Sh, over there! Look back." Joey leaned over him, scarcely breathing.

"Wow, you know...I thought that might be..."

"Awesome." Snuffy's voice was clear.

The gator was small, probably very young. Swimming out of the reeds like nobody's business, chasing one of the sunfish or perch or whatever the hell they were. The dusky olive-yellow eyes put Joey in mind of green amber, which momentarily put him in mind of what he'd said on the plane and just how _surreal_ this was, riding in a fucking airboat with all of the guys, with _Billy_ , seeing things he'd never seen in his life...

"I wonder if the hotel has any of those," Billy said close to his ear. "We should ask."

Joey would have responded if he hadn't been doubled over with laughter.

* * *

"I don't know about you guys, but I'm taking Mr. Bradberry here to the nearest drugstore," Hank said, almost shoving Snuffy out of the van. "Pronto."

Joey stumbled out behind them, blinking at the glint of sunlight off the Monaco's many windows. Billy was just behind him, hand on Joey's shoulder, then on his hip.

"About time for lunch," Phil observed, hopping onto the curb. He caught his balance easily and stood up, stretching energetically.

"Yeah, I'm hungry, too," Ric said, handing the driver their collective tip before getting out of the van. "What about that place on Canal Street? Dixie Taverne. Looks really good."

"Looks really fucking similar to where we went last night," Billy muttered. Hands on his hips, looking a little strained.

"You guys go ahead," Hank cut in impatiently, grabbing Snuffy's arm when he tried to make for the hotel entrance. "We'll catch up with you later."

Before Joey could think of anything to say, Hank had dragged Snuffy as far as the crosswalk. "Okay, so..."

"You two gonna hang around here?" Phil asked. No sarcasm whatsoever, just wanting to know.

"I think so," Billy said. "We'll just order lunch up and watch TV or something."

"Mass at six," Joey said, suddenly remembering. He hoped Billy was feeling all right, otherwise...

"See you later, then," Ric said. "We're going to check out the Taverne and do a little scouting of our own."

"Yeah, and some actual _planning_ ," Phil said with a conspiratorial smirk at Ric, "while Snuffy's too sick to complain. Catch you guys this evening?"

"Sure thing," Joey said, watching them head off in the general direction that Hank and Snuffy had.

Billy tugged on his arm. "Joey, it's fucking hot out here."

"C'mon." Joey took his hand and started for the doors. _Don't collapse on me, Billy_. 

They were alone in the elevator. Billy leaned back against the railing heavily, eyes closed. Joey took a swaying step and leaned beside him. Didn't look good at all. Billy opened his eyes and let go of the railing, reaching for him with one hand. Joey grabbed hold of his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth.

"Not feeling too swift?" he asked, pressing Billy's palm to his cheek.

Billy gave a strained laugh, staring briefly at the ceiling. "Nope."

Joey slung Billy's arm over his shoulders, moving in closer to slip his other arm around Billy's waist, bracing him against the upward motion. "We're almost there."

Billy rested his head on Joey's shoulder, saying nothing. Joey kissed his hair softly, watching the lit-up numbers finally settle on _7_. Billy cooperated well enough to get through the doors and up the main hall, but as soon as they rounded the corner, he stopped them, turning his head to stifle a wince against Joey's neck.

"Head or stomach?" Joey asked suspiciously, nudging him. _C'mon, just three doors up_.

Billy laughed again, only it sounded more like a whimper. "Both."

"More Pepto, more aspirin, sleep," Joey said decisively, pushing him the remainder of the way.

Billy didn't waste any time collapsing on the freshly turned-down bed as soon as Joey wrestled him out of his t-shirt, waiting patiently for Joey to reappear with a glass of water for the aspirin. Billy swallowed the pills, made a face, and chased them with a careless swig of Pepto-Bismol. Joey held out the glass of water again.

Billy sat up halfway and took a mouthful, frowning as Joey took it away. "You know, I think I'll be lucky if that stays down."

"All you had at breakfast was tea," Joey said, pressing him back against the pillows. "You should be okay." _God, I've never seen you like this_.

Billy took hold of Joey's arms, tugging on him. "Joey," he said softly. Kind of glassy-eyed, almost feverish.

"Where did you think I was going?" Joey asked, settling down beside him. 

Billy shifted onto his side with a groan and curled up against Joey, just like he had that morning. "I thought maybe you'd order some lunch or something."

"Not hungry," Joey lied, ignoring the vague hollowness in his stomach. He kissed Billy's forehead, stroking his hair back. _Warm_.

Billy closed his eyes, breathing out slowly. "Don't let me do that again."

Joey opened his eyes, propping himself up to look at Billy properly. "Do what? Drink three margaritas that you had no way of knowing were lethal as fuck?"

"Drink three margaritas _period_ ," Billy said emphatically, nuzzling Joey's chest. "I hate doing this to you."

Joey frowned. "Doing _what_ to me?"

"We could be out at the Taverne or Lafayette or something, having—"

"Shut up, Billy," he murmured, brushing a kiss against his mouth this time. "Get some sleep."

Billy closed his eyes, returning the gentle pressure of Joey's lips. "Mass at six."

"If you're still sick, we're not going."

"You could," Billy suggested, snuggling closer. "Don't let me rain on your amazing cultural experience."

"No way," Joey said firmly, settling in with an arm around him, scooting down to press their foreheads together. _I'll fucking lie in bed with you for the rest of the day if I have to_. "Staying right here."

Billy laughed, still strained, but not so pathetic this time. "You're something else, Joeylove."

Joey kissed his cheek, pretty sure he'd just sound like a fucking idiot if he tried to respond verbally. Billy was always doing that, saying shit that took him completely, mindlessly off-guard. He said similar stuff while they made love, but Joey was always so caught up in it that he could just gasp something right back, something to take the words right out of Billy's mouth. But times like this, when everything was still and quiet, he felt—so fucking _unworthy_.

"Joey?" Billy sounded drowsy now, even comfortable.

"Shhh," Joey whispered. Then softer, because he almost didn't dare: "I love you more than anything. I hope you know that."

"You fucking sentimentalist," Billy whispered, giving Joey a quick kiss. "Yeah, Joey. I _do_."

* * *

Evening sunlight spilled through the cathedral's stained-glass windows, blinding and brilliant. The echoes of gold and rose that played against Billy's white shirt were enough to make Joey wish that he'd brought his pastels, however risky it might have been. He settled for the plain graphite in his hand, listening to Billy's quiet breathing beneath the scratch of his pencil.

"Of all the chances you've had to draw me," Billy whispered, leaning close, "you had to wait till we were in f—mmm, church."

Joey bit his tongue, grateful that they were in the back row. "I'll draw you naked tonight, if that's what you want," he whispered back. "Be quiet. They're starting."

Billy sat back against the pew, and Joey realized that he hadn't seen Billy's spine so straight since they'd been at his Mom's place. The condition of his head and stomach had improved, which at least made sitting up straight _possible_. Still, Joey found it pretty amusing. He tucked the sketchbook away between his thigh and the arm-rest, listening as the procession began, accompanied by a chant in Latin. Yeah, wow. This place was hardcore.

"Hey, I understand some of that." Joey could hear the grin in Billy's whisper.

"Probably more than I can."

"Italian's not that different, is it?"

"Different enough, sometimes. _Shhh_." Joey elbowed him gently.

"Right," Billy murmured, settling back into his seat again.

The litany was gorgeous; they had a good choir. Joey had to keep reminding himself where he was—one of the oldest centers of worship in the country, kind of hard to believe. He couldn't stop staring at the ceiling, rotating the paintings and windows before his mind's eye like a kaleidoscope. He'd tried for an effect like that in a painting once, but he'd been using watercolor, which was a mistake. You needed oils for that kind of vibrance, and he hadn't been able to get to the city in time to get some for that particular project. _Maybe next time_. He'd remember these sights, he'd remember the tilt and spin of the music. He'd remember—

Billy's hand was between them, very still. Hadn't been there a minute ago.

Into the _Kyrie_ now, sweeping, just _fucking_ gorgeous. Joey bit his lip and muttered a Hail Mary, he _had_ to watch that. Even Billy could bite his tongue in a place of worship, but thoughts were a lot harder. It wasn't like the music made him _want_ to think like that, but it was just so... _Jesus_. Okay, that was better. Joey closed his eyes again and listened to the soprano section; they were solo now, but split somewhere on the interior of the chords, very subtle harmony. God, he wished he could compose like that. He wondered whose arrangement they were listening to. He wondered if he could paint it, _really_ paint it. You just couldn't play that kind of thing on a guitar, and his voice wasn't classical by a long shot. _Dammit_. Bringing tears to his eyes. 

And Billy was touching his hand. Just a fraction, a brush of his thumb.

Joey thought the _Gloria_ was lacking something, because it sure didn't shimmer like the _Kyrie_ had. Also, it depended a little too heavily on the bass line. Nothing wrong with _basso_ —the prologue to _Simon Boccanegra_ more than proved that—but here, it just wasn't working. Needed more tenor, or alto counterpoint, or something. He let his eyes wander again, this time favoring the floor. Just stone, inlaid tile. It had a grace in its own right, maybe to balance out the picturesque gaudiness of the vaulted ceiling. _Kyrie_ and _Gloria_ , he thought. Was that what all that yin and yang shit meant? _Oops_.

His own fingers had crept over Billy's. Loose, resting there.

Old Testament, something from Matthew. The readings always managed to ruin the mood of the music, somehow, and Joey thought for a minute that Andrew Lloyd Webber had really had the right idea when he wrote _Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat_. Gospel-as-opera. If only it had caught on. The ceiling was awfully interesting again, and so was Billy's hand. Moving under his, a playful tickle against his palm. _Hey!_

Joey turned his head and caught Billy looking at him. Smiling that private smile of his, as if he'd just thought up the best...damn prank in the world.

"What's so funny?" Joey whispered.

"You are," Billy whispered back, leaning closer than he had before. "D'you have any idea how entertained I am?"

"By what, watching me stare at—um, the ceiling?" _Jesus, Mary, and Joseph—whatever!_

"It's more than that," Billy said. Smile blossoming into an all-out grin.

Joey resorted to a hiss of breath, sitting up straight. He'd pay attention to the priest even if it put him to sleep. One wrong word out of Billy and he'd crack up, and they'd get kicked out or something. Which he wasn't too keen on happening, though he couldn't say why. He'd heard his music. They could leave, easy. Except he didn't really _want_ to, and he wasn't sure that Billy did, either. If only for the fact that Billy loved watching him take in the decor. Joey pulled the straightest face he could muster. Great, everything had decided to be fucking funny again— _fuck!_ He might need a Confession, at this rate. 

Their hands were clasped now, fingers laced tight.

Offertory, Eucharistic prayer. That killed the humor pretty quickly, didn't it? Joey never closed his eyes, though. Most pain and suffering, you had to watch. Helpless, letting it happen—he knew that's what it must have been like. Whether Jesus was really God or a prophet or miracle-making mystic or whatever, it didn't matter. There wasn't anything funny about that kind of sacrifice. There wasn't anything funny about blood.

Billy's grip was tighter, but he wasn't sure why. Joey stole a glance sideways and saw that Billy's eyes were closed. He gave Billy's hand a squeeze. _I'm right here_.

Billy didn't get up with him to take Communion, and for a second, Joey caught himself hesitating in the aisle, glancing in Billy's direction. But it made perfect sense after a heartbeat, and he moved on; Billy wasn't Catholic. But weren't Episcopalian services kind of similar? Wouldn't it count for something? Joey fixed his eyes on the golden glint of the altar, trying his best not to look back. When was the last time Billy had been to church?

His hand was damp with sweat, still warm despite the fact that the marks of Billy's fingers had faded.

Joey darted to one side, standing against the third pew back. He shot Billy a look, taking no more than a few seconds to catch his eye: _Are you sure you don't wanna do this? I won't tell the Pope, for crying out loud_. Billy just gave him a patient smile, looking almost sad. What the fuck, he couldn't— _dammit!_ —take even a few seconds' separation? Joey glanced back up at the altar, watching some of the locals (and probably some other tourists, hell, he didn't...gah, know) accept the wafers and wine. Why was he just standing there, did he want to paint this, too? Billy looked lonely back there, and it was pretty clear he wouldn't...

Joey started back the aisle to his seat. Besides, he'd sworn one too many times.

* * *

"Ta-da!" Phil said, spreading the tickets out with a card-dealer's flair.

Hank eyed them suspiciously, chewing on a piece of toast heavily loaded with grape jelly. "Ghost tour, huh?"

"Yeah," Ric said defensively, his dark eyes sweeping around the table. "We're all going."

"Says who?" Snuffy protested, poking the yolk of his egg with a fork. "What if some of us would rather go to Bourbon Street?"

"We should save that for the last night," Joey suggested. _Please please please let it work_ —

"I agree," Billy said. "More exciting that way." Good, good. Helping the plan along.

"More _lame-ass_ that way," Snuffy protested, jabbing his fork at Phil. "C'mon, I thought you were with me on this!"

"I've changed my mind," Phil said, grinning sidelong at Ric.

"What the fuck are you up to?" Hank asked, studying some of the orange pulp caught on the rim of his glass. "You think boring my ass off is funny?"

"No, actually, I think it just might be _fun_ if we did something else together," Ric retorted. "Is that the real reason you fuckers declined Mom's invitation? Too group-oriented for you?"

"No," Joey reassured him. "It's just that we thought of this first."

Ric relented with a half smile. "True."

" _I_ think it'll be fun, for what it's worth," Billy said, stabbing one of his hashbrowns decisively. "I'm sure they've got better ghost stories down here than they've got in Virginia, Hank."

"Could be," Hank said with a shrug. "Okay, you're on."

"No shit," Phil said, gathering the tickets back up, patting them into his breast pocket. "We're already booked. Tonight at nine."

"Leaves from the same cafe the French Quarter tour left from," Joey said. "Convenient."

"If I can't fucking sleep tonight," Snuffy blurted, "the lights are staying _on_."

Cracking up at Snuffy's expense was a hell of a lot more forgivable than improper thoughts during Mass, Joey decided. For all he knew, it was kind in comparison to what he had in mind. He hadn't even told Billy the full extent of it, just the basic idea. It was more of a prank on everyone, really. Billy might even be proud, assuming he could get over the fact that his role would consist mostly of improv.

"Fuck you," Snuffy muttered to his eggs, dealing out a rather obvious kick to Hank under the table. Kind of understandable, since he'd been laughing the hardest.

Joey exchanged glances with Billy, then concentrated on his grits. Thursday night would arrive soon enough, and just like leaving the cathedral, he wasn't sure that he wanted it to.

* * *

"Wow, this is some fucking weird shit."

"Don't say that," Ric cautioned. "You want to piss the old dame off before we come back here tonight?"

"Oh, yeah," Snuffy retorted. "Some gentleman _you_ are." He scuffed around in the dust, trying to make out what was written on the concrete. The mausoleum in front of him was covered in similar scrawls, most of which looked like weird combinations of the letter _X_ in different sizes. Usually in threes. 

Joey thought he could see some faint initials, though. Hell, maybe it was considered polite to sign your Voodoo. He crouched down to study the inscription more closely. "Can't really read it," Joey said, brushing at it with his fingers, discouraged. "It's too old."

"This dude at Dixie Taverne last night was telling us about her," Ric said. "Apparently Marie was a devout Catholic, in addition to being Voodoo Queen. They let her do fucking _rituals_ in that church you guys went to."

Joey glanced up at Ric in amazement. "In St. Louis Cathedral?"

"Yeah, that's what he said. Either that or he was too drunk to know his shit."

"Wish Phil were here," Snuffy muttered, stepping up to the door of the tomb. "He might remember more." Snuffy knocked a few times, smirking. "Anybody home?"

Ric grabbed his wrist. "D'you realize what you're doing?"

"Calling on Mrs. Laveau, of course," he said in a stiff British accent.

Ric shook his head. "You don't understand. People knock like that to ask her for a favor. So you had better think fast and ask."

Joey stood up and walked over to them, folding his arms. "Since when do you believe in this shit?" _Interesting shit, though_.

Ric shrugged. "Not sure I do, but you can never be too careful. My grandfather knew some really fucked-up stories. But they were Spanish."

"Yeah, well, I don't think they had Voodoo in Spain, so what're you worried about?" Snuffy asked, turning around and lounging against the pale, weatherbeaten stone.

"I'm worried that you'll freak out on us later if you don't do it, that's what," Ric said testily. "Come on, ask her for a favor and let's get back to the hotel. They'll be waiting to go to dinner."

Billy, Hank, and Phil had stayed behind to watch Monty Python or something, Joey couldn't remember what. But Ric had wanted to take a look around Lafayette before dark, and Joey couldn't argue with that. He'd gotten a handful of good sketches. Snuffy was mostly interested in being an ass, or showing the ghosts who was boss, or maybe a bit of both. Joey doubted any of it would work. He'd probably be huddled up shivering against Hank's back all night.

"Fine," Snuffy said, launching himself off the stone, wheeling around to face a series of eerie, dark _Xs_ drawn at eye-level. "Madame Laveau, est-ce que vous pouvez—"

"Be polite, asshole," Joey said, poking Snuffy in the back with his eraser.

Snuffy let out an exasperated breath. " _S'il vous plaît_ , est-ce que vous pouvez faire—" He cut himself off, glancing back over his shoulder in annoyance. "Hey, this must be like a birthday wish or something. I shouldn't say it out loud."

Joey watched Snuffy close his eyes and just _stand_ there. For a few long, silent minutes, he wondered if there was really someone listening beyond the four walls of stone. Ric was quiet, too, staring at the cloudless sky. It was too bright for the moment to feel creepy, but at the same time, it was worse.

You wouldn't expect to meet a ghost in the daytime.

* * *

"You've gotta be kidding me," Billy said, watching Joey sort out his dirty laundry and shove it more or less organized into a corner. "Snuffy made a wish on that Voodoo witch's grave?"

"Something like that," Joey said, standing up and brushing his hands off. "Ric didn't explain everything that the guy told him, so I didn't really understand. More like a favor."

"A favor implies you've gotta do something in return." Billy sounded amused. "I wonder what he asked for."

"Knowing Snuffy, who _knows_ ," Joey sighed, crawling onto the bed beside Billy. The maid had done it up that morning, but Billy had turned it right back down again. He had been there waiting when Joey got in from Lafayette, all _Monty Python_ -ed out. Joey settled down against him, resting his head on Billy's shoulder. He wasn't spooked or anything, just...weirded out. Like maybe Snuffy _was_ playing with something he shouldn't.

Billy lifted his head, trying to look at Joey. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Joey mumbled, turning his head to nuzzle Billy's chest. _Not in the mood for smalltalk here, I don't know what the fuck I think_.

Billy kissed the top of his head. "Can I see what you sketched?"

Joey squirmed on top of him, face buried against Billy's neck. "Maybe later."

"Okay, um, that works," Billy said, his breath catching as he wound his arms around Joey. "You sure you're okay?"

 _Thinking too fucking much, and it'll just get worse later_. Joey breathed against Billy's ear, then caught the lobe between his teeth, sucking hungrily.

Billy stifled a moan against Joey's cheek. "Guess that's a yes."

"Screw the guys, let's order up." Billy smelled good, skin tasted damp. Must've soaked in the bathtub. It _was_ pretty warm out, and he'd hardly bothered to dress again. Just boxers. Joey lifted his head and kissed Billy, lingering over his lower lip.

"Not hungry," Billy managed, curling one hand to the back of Joey's neck, stroking the hair at his nape. "Yet."

"Good," Joey murmured, letting his hips rock gently against Billy's. _Mm_. He was already hard.

Billy laughed into Joey's mouth, holding him still for another kiss. "You didn't ask her to put a spell on me, did you?"

Joey snorted, rolling away just long enough to struggle out of his shirt, catching his earring in the process. It fell somewhere on the floor, but he didn't care. Billy whimpered, watching him wriggle out of his pants. _Give me a minute!_ Joey let them crumple on the floor, then crawled back over to Billy. He hadn't taken his boxers off, so Joey did it for him.

"Man of few words, huh?" Billy murmured. He didn't waste any time, tugging Joey down close and rolling him over against the sheets.

"Shut up," Joey whispered, nibbling at Billy's lips. "You were too fucking sick for this yesterday, I _want_ you."

"Oh," Billy said, but it was more of a groan. He kissed Joey, hard and fierce, pressing down against him slowly, not quite a thrust.

Joey shifted under him, cradling Billy's hips between his thighs. "Good?" he murmured, stroking Billy's cheek. _Mmm, God_.

Another one of those choked laughs, almost like when he'd been sick. "That's an understatement."

Joey wrapped a leg around him, not in the mood to talk anymore. Billy kissed him again, slow and tender this time, warming him from head to toe with lazy pleasure. They'd gotten so wrapped up in the tourist shit that they hadn't taken the time to do this, to do it _right_. No distractions, no needing to be anywhere. Granted, somewhere close to slipping over the edge, Joey realized they were definitely going to be late for dinner if they had any intention of dozing this off, and—

" _Ohgod_ ," Billy gasped, moving frantically now. "Joey..."

Joey closed his eyes, catching up to Billy's pace with a shudder. "C'mon, love."

His words were broken in Joey's ear, almost sobbed, but he could still understand...

"Joey—Joey— _Joey!_ "

Yeah, oh _fuck_ yeah. Joey choked Billy's name out, too, suddenly understanding why those initials were important.

Some spells weren't so bad after all.

* * *

"Pirates," Snuffy muttered, jogging to catch up with Hank. "I would never have thought of fucking pirates."

"We stopped there on the French Quarter tour," Billy said, nodding over his shoulder at the blacksmith shop. "But they didn't tell us the spooky stuff, of course."

"Jean Lafitte, Prince of Pirates," Ric mused, elbowing Joey. "Did you have him in mind at Halloween?"

Joey shoved Ric's arm away, grinning. "I wish I'd _known_ this much about him at Halloween."

"Never attacked a single American ship," Billy said, idly scanning the rest of the tour group just ahead of them. "That's pretty impressive. Loyal guy." Here and there, pieces of white clothing glowed faintly in the ashen dusk.

"Since he was a hero in battle, I wonder if the government recognized it," Phil said. "You don't hear about pirates earning military medals."

"He didn't say," Hank replied, eyeing a somewhat jittery Snuffy with laughter in his gaze. "Maybe we can ask after the tour."

"I think I just want to go back," Ric said, sounding edgy himself. "And _not_ by way of that sick torture lady's place, either. How could you _do_ that to somebody, even if you considered them property?"

"She was insane," Joey suggested. He was sticking pretty close to Billy himself.

"I think _you're_ insane," Snuffy muttered to no one in particular. Probably to all of them.

"Marie sounds fucking harmless in comparison to the rest of these wackos," Phil said, his eyes darting up to watch the breeze stir the branches of the tree they were walking under. "Did anyone other than Snuffy ask her for a favor?"

"To protect me from any of the other shit we might run into on this tour," Ric said. He sounded pretty fucking honest.

"You shouldn't talk about it, asshole," Snuffy said defensively. "Don't expect me to speak up."

"I didn't say you had to," Ric said quietly. "I'm just saying..."

"Hey, we're heading for St. Louis Cathedral," Billy said, looking as far ahead as he could. "We came this way yesterday."

"Merv said the next stop would be our last." Hank was pretty amused by the fact that their guide had a goofy name, but Joey had to admit it was the _only_ funny thing about the entire tour. The French Quarter alone had enough disturbed spirits to supply the entire fucking country.

"Didn't feel haunted," Joey said, trying to sound casual.

"Looks amazing, anyway," Snuffy said. They could see the cathedral now.

Merv herded them all under the archway just before the doors, which plunged things into considerable shadow. Joey felt Billy step up closer behind him, one hand stealing its way up Joey's arm. Billy's touch was reassuring, but it wasn't steady. Jesus, was _he_ scared?

"I hope we're not going inside," Ric whispered, shattering the stillness just as some of the other tourists burst into nervous laughter.

"I hope we are," Snuffy said unexpectedly. He was squinting up at whatever was carved on the edifice, and Joey found that he had forgotten when he tried to summon the image. He'd been paying too much attention to the interior.

"Blah blah," Phil muttered, following Merv's progress up to the doors. "Here goes."

"Shhh," Hank hissed. "This one's gonna be good."

"How do _you_ know?" Ric asked irritably. He was really uncomfortable.

"Shhh." Billy tugged them back until they were the very last ones in line, which didn't take much doing. They'd been almost last since the blacksmith shop.

The creak of the doors under Merv's gentle push sent a shiver through Joey. Of _course_ the place would be open well into the evening; most churches were like that. Some folks didn't have time to pray or whatever during the day. And of course, there were things like _this_ to consider. Scaring the wits out of tourists. He fished around behind him until he found Billy's hand at the small of his back, gripping it tightly. He followed Ric through the doors, tugging Billy along behind him.

Merv was talking again, but at first, Joey couldn't hear anything but whispers. Snuffy was sticking to Hank's side like a fucking magnet. Phil glanced around sharply, his pale eyes glinting reddish with candlelight from the altar. Joey hung back again, dipping his fingers into the basin with clumsy fingers. He turned around and touched Billy's forehead, then his own. The light reflected off the droplet that slid down to Billy's lip. It caught in his eyes, too, giving the effect of a tear.

"Just in case?" Billy grinned at him, no longer trying to hide how unsettled he was.

Joey could only summon a nod before he turned, gripping Billy's hand tighter. Someone had left the incense burning.

"...came here in 1745. He became pastor of St. Louis," Merv was saying, his deep voice echoing in the vast stillness. "Back then, this cathedral was no more than a church."

"I don't remember this part from the other tour," Billy said softly.

"Me neither."

"Shut up," Ric whispered over his shoulder, barely audible.

"Père Dagobert was well-loved by his congregation," Merv continued. "He went out of his way to help the unfortunate. By 1764, he was revered as a father, more than his title might suggest. That was about the time Louisiana's governor announced that the colony of New Orleans had been handed over to Spain. The French were terrified. They petitioned to their king, but that didn't prevent the colony from changing hands."

"That must've come totally out of left field," Phil whispered.

"You too?" Ric hissed. "Be _quiet_ , man!"

Joey tightened his grip on Billy's hand again and held their entwined fingers close to his side, struggling to listen.

"...began to plot against the new Spanish governor in 1766. The leaders were all wealthy men, and close friends of Dagobert's. They had his blessing, and whether by that grace or sheer luck, the rebellion was successful. Spain sent a fleet of twenty-four ships, hoping to crush the rebellion. They were under the command of an Irish expatriate, Don Alejandro O'Reilly. How's that for mixed-up politics?"

"Perfect," Snuffy murmured. He was probably thinking what a great play it would make, or something like that.

Phil laughed. "Mixed-up name to boot."

"The rebellion was put down, and the men in charge were arrested," Merv said, pausing respectfully. "In October 1769, they faced a firing squad. One man was stabbed by a bayonet during the arrest. He died before the trial. The other men were executed, and O'Reilly refused to bury them. The bodies were left to the mercy of the elements. People were shocked. How could a devout Catholic allow such a thing? Guards were posted to prevent civilians from attempting a proper interment."

"Antigone much?" Snuffy breathed, letting out a low whistle. It echoed around them eerily, causing Merv to stop with a faint look of disapproval.

"Can't we get on to the good part?" Hank complained. "Asshole, way to go."

Merv decided to ignore them, focusing on the intent listeners standing closest to him. "Just after that, something happened that hasn't been explained. Dagobert went around to the homes of the slain men and summoned their families to the church. When they arrived, they found that the bodies of their loved ones had somehow been brought there. A funeral mass was held immediately. In the heavy rain, the men were buried at St. Louis Cemetery." 

Joey stared up at the ceiling, squinting to make out shapes that he'd committed to memory. Angels and demons, sinners and saints. Billy's hand was hot in his own, sticky, comfortably real. He closed his eyes and remembered the _Kyrie_ , alive and vibrant in the darkness. The tenor soloist's voice echoed faintly in his ears.

"I hear music," Ric whispered.

Joey opened his eyes immediately. There was nothing.

"Dagobert keeps watch over this cathedral even now," Merv said, his voice quiet, as if uttering a prayer in closing. "He's been heard singing the _Kyrie_ after dusk, particularly in the morning hours after rainfall."

"I'm getting out of here."

Ric made for the doors so fast that he knocked Joey into Billy on his way, hardly looking back to apologize. Billy caught his balance and hugged Joey tightly, holding him upright.

"You okay?" he whispered in Joey's ear.

"Yeah." Joey was grateful of Billy's arms as his eyes drifted over to the altar.

The candle that they'd lit the day before was flickering, and Joey couldn't remember if it was one of the ones that had been dancing in its glass when they entered or not.

* * *

"I don't believe in it," Hank said, shrugging as he accepted a glass from Snuffy. "But it's interesting."

" 'Can't we get to the _good_ part?' " Snuffy parroted, taking a sip of his own bourbon. "Yeah fucking right. You're hooked."

"I said it was _interesting_ , asshole." Hank reached for the empty bottle and chucked it at him.

"Hey, cut it out," Ric said, leaning back against the bed, cradling his glass of scotch on top of his knees. "You never know what's out there."

Joey fished the wine out of the fridge before Snuffy got it into his head to pour some for Phil. "You were pretty spooked," he said, glancing down at Ric as he got up and climbed back onto the bed with Billy. "Did you see something?"

"No, I fucking told you, I _heard_ something."

"Ghostly singing, huh?" Phil grabbed a bottle of beer out of the fridge before snapping it shut, making Snuffy jump. "What did it sound like?" He was pretty skeptical, but he wasn't laughing at Ric, either.

"I don't know what it was," Ric mumbled into his drink. "It was just _music_."

" _Kyrie, rex genitor ingenite, vera essentia, eleison_." Joey sang the melody as nearly as he could remember it, cringing because he was pretty sure it was down a half step. "Was it like that?"

Ric's head snapped around. "Just because you know the fucking Mass—"

Joey twisted the cap off the wine, hissing with the effort instead of snapping at Ric. "Listen, it's what I heard in there last night, okay? It was the choir."

Ric was still staring at him. "Those were the words."

"That's generally what the _Kyrie_ says," Joey said, handing the bottle over to Billy with a shrug.

Billy took a sip, wrinkling his nose before leveling his opinion off with a hum. "S'not bad."

"What do _you_ think?" Phil asked suddenly, waving his bottle in Billy's direction as he sprawled out carelessly on his back. Hank edged away from him, and Snuffy grabbed his glass off the edge of the table, crouching down to sit beside Hank. Both of them were looking at Billy, too.

Billy pressed the wine into Joey's hand and glanced down at them nonchalantly. "What, about ghosts?"

"No, about the fucking wine," Phil retorted. "Yes, _ghosts_."

"Not sure," Billy said, watching Joey take a drink of the wine.

"Oh, come on," Hank prompted, clattering his ice around. "You think something about _everything_."

"Well," Billy said patiently, taking back the wine as if he intended to use it for a pointer, "that would require me to think about my views on the afterlife, which in turn would require me to think about God."

"So?" Phil said impatiently. "What do you think about God?"

Joey grabbed the wine and took a longer drink. If Hank wanted interesting, this was _definitely_ gonna be interesting.

Billy gave him a mildly annoyed look before continuing. "I think there's something out there, if that's what you mean. But I don't know if it's God."

"Which means you don't believe in ghosts?" Ric was looking at him now, too, almost disappointed.

Billy shook his head. "I didn't say that."

"It means he's not fucking sure," Joey said, handing him the bottle. "Right?"

"I guess so," Billy said reasonably, taking a rather unconcerned sip. "I've never had a moving supernatural experience, that's for sure."

"I don't understand how anyone can't feel the shit around here," Ric said. Clear this time, not muted by his glass.

"What are you, clairvoyant or something?" Snuffy's sarcasm was making a comeback.

Ric finished his scotch and set the glass aside on the carpet, giving Snuffy a steady look. "If you'd seen what I've seen, you wouldn't be so fucking quick with a wisecrack."

Joey shivered, scooting a little closer to Billy. Why the fuck did they have most of the lights out?

"What've you seen?"

Phil was grinning, looking straight at Billy. "Maybe he'll convince you."

"I won't convince him of shit," Ric said, sounding defensive, "because I don't fucking talk about it."

"You fucking _mentioned_ it," Hank said, holding his glass out to Snuffy, who took a couple of seconds to realize he wanted a refill. "That's enough. Spill."

Ric sprawled his legs out on the floor with a sigh of discomfort. "If you laugh, I'll dump the fucking fishbowl over your head."

 _No you won't_. Joey stretched his legs out, too, watchful. Billy curled his underneath himself, shifting so that now they almost touched.

"I don't know where to start," Ric said. He sounded...lost.

"Are you trying to tell me you've seen so many fucking ghosts you can't even—"

"I didn't say I've seen fucking ghosts, but I've seen weird shit. That I basically _think_ are ghosts. I don't know what the fuck else they could be." Ric had picked his glass up again, staring into the dregs.

Snuffy grabbed it and refilled it hastily, handing it back to Ric with a splash. "Courage, man."

"Shut the fuck up," he muttered, drinking almost half of it before he set it down again. "Okay, so," he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, staring at the bureau in front of him. "It started when I was a little kid. I have no conscious memory of this, but Mom and Dad? They say I used to talk to somebody when I was by myself, like...I was two, three years old? Really young. Before Isabella was born."

"You had an imaginary friend," Snuffy said. "Big deal."

Ric raised a hand and pointed at Snuffy, almost warning. "See, they used to say that. When they first told me about it, I was twelve or something. They thought it was cute, reminding me I used to talk about this girl with—"

"An imaginary _girl_ friend," Snuffy crowed, almost spilling his bourbon. "This is great!"

"Shut up, Snuffy." Billy sounded thoroughly interested.

"Thanks. Anyway, this girl. I used to tell them she was little like me. Dark hair, dark skin and eyes. I wish I could remember the name, but it always sounded Indian. When they told it to me, I mean."

"And you can't remember talking to this girl?" Hank asked, disappointed.

"Nope," Ric said sadly, and Joey realized this meant an awful fucking lot to him. "If she was a ghost, then I don't know what happened. Somewhere between toddlerhood and gradeschool, I guess I forgot about the whole thing. But there was other stuff, which is why I looked at my parents a little funny when they told me about her. You know—just things out of the corner of my eye, things I hear that I'm pretty sure nobody else did."

 _I'm not so sure I didn't_ , Joey thought. He grabbed Billy's wrist and steered the bottle up to his lips.

"Huh," Phil said, toying with the carpet next to his foot. "That's weird."

Ric shrugged, taking another drink, still lost in his own world. "Don't know," he murmured. "It got bad for a while, about a year ago. I thought I needed medication or something."

"What the fuck?" Snuffy was leaning forward, pretty much hooked.

"Yeah," Ric said a bit too slowly, as if his head was swimming a little from the scotch. "Shit in my room kept rearranging itself."

"Are you kidding?" Billy asked, tilting the bottle for Joey again, helpful and interested all at once.

"Nope," Ric said. "I'd come home from school and find my stuff all tossed around, or sometimes just a few specific things where they shouldn't be."

"Yeah, that's fucking _weird_ ," Phil muttered, gulping the last of his beer.

"Well, asshole, what do _you_ think?" Hank asked him.

"Me?" Phil asked. "I want to know if Ric believes in God."

"Yeah, I believe in God." Just like that, no hesitation.

"Hmm," Snuffy said. "I never knew believing in God and believing in ghosts were this synom...synonymous."

"Not necessarily," Hank said. "I believe in God, but I don't believe in ghosts."

"But you find them _interesting_ ," Snuffy reminded him.

"Yeah, so? You're not sure if you believe in Bigfoot, but you find _him_ interesting."

"That's irrelevant," Snuffy said, taking another drink.

"No it's not," Ric said. "This conversation's about the unseen. That counts for a lot of shit."

"For the record," Phil said loudly, waving his empty bottle in the air, "let's have a show of hands. Who believes in God?"

Ric, Hank, and Phil raised their hands. Joey raised his own halfway, hovering, and Billy gave him a look before doing the same. Snuffy's hands remained firmly fastened to his glass, which now sat on the floor.

"Gentlemen, there is an _agnostic_ in our midst," Phil announced, laughing.

"So?" Snuffy said. "So what if I don't fucking believe there's a God? I believe there are fucking _spirits_."

"How are those different from ghosts?" Billy asked.

"Forces of nature and stuff, you know," Snuffy said, lifting his glass to his lips. "What the Romantics wrote about."

"They didn't _just_ write about 'forces of nature and stuff'," Joey pointed out. "Be more specific."

"Okay, so, Shakespeare?" Snuffy said with exaggerated care, as if addressing a child. "Take _Midsummer Night's Dream_ for an example. I don't believe in bloody prancing fairies or anything like that, but I think the world definitely has a say in things."

"Shakespeare wasn't a Romantic," Billy said. Joey could tell he was trying not to laugh.

Phil waved his hand in the air, objecting. "Hey, sometimes, technically he—"

"We're not talking about fucking Shakespeare," Hank said. "Uh- _uh_."

"We are now," Snuffy informed him, still exaggerating, "because I have a point to make."

"I think you made it," Phil said. "You've had too much fucking bourbon."

"That still doesn't answer the ghost question," Ric observed, even though he was closer to drunk than any of them.

"I don't believe in ghosts," Snuffy said. "There. Satisfied?"

"You were scared as hell," Hank said, setting his glass down beside Snuffy's.

"I'm not your fucking maid, and _yes_ , I was fucking scared to fucking death. Happy?"

"No," Hank said. "I'm out of fucking bourbon."

"Dammit, Bourbon Street," Snuffy muttered, reaching for the bottle. "Tomorrow."

"Yeah, tomorrow," Phil said. "And I'll just make this easier on all of you: I don't believe in ghosts, and I don't have any amazing stories to tell. The end."

Ric gave him a hazy look. "Amazing?"

Phil shrugged, wiggling against the carpet. "Better than anything I ever saw. Unless you count fucking McAllister in a sheet."

Joey burst out laughing before he could help it, and so did Billy. Hank waved his newly-filled glass in the air until silence was restored, at which point he went all dignified and sober as if he meant to make a toast. Joey wrapped his hand around Billy's on the wine bottle, not caring. They weren't paying any fucking attention.

"I believe in God. Sort of. Haven't been to church in a while, and I can't really say my folks are so hot on it either, except Grandma quotes a _mean_ Genesis." Hank downed half of his glass and saluted.

"Hear, hear," Billy murmured, pressing the bottle up to Joey's lips before leaning in and tilting it up for a drink of his own. They were just a breath apart, and Billy had gotten some wine down his chin. Joey restrained himself, giving Billy a lazy blink instead. _So fucking patient_. _You wanna know my story, don't you?_

"I guess," Snuffy said loudly, as if reading his mind, "that leaves Joey, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Ric said, turning around so he could look up at Joey. "You were kinda wishy-washy on the God thing, but you still go to church, don't you?"

"Sometimes," Joey said. "Figured it would be stupid of me to pass up the chance yesterday, what with the choirs places like St. Louis have."

"Cop-out," Hank said. "Nobody goes to church for the music."

"What if I do?" Joey asked, looking him straight in the eye. "And what if I like churches?"

Snuffy blinked. "What is it about churches?"

"The stillness," Joey said. "They're peaceful. The paintings, too. Mom used to yell at me for drawing during Mass, till she realized I was drawing stuff _in_ the church."

"That still doesn't have anything to do with ghosts," Hank said.

"It could." Ric was defending him. "There are haunted churches, in case you haven't noticed."

Joey turned his head to look at Billy. He returned Joey's gaze thoughtfully, didn't seem to have any comments. Joey shrugged, then looked back at the others.

"I heard the music, too."

* * *

"Joey."

Billy's voice was soft, drifting in from the edge of sleep. Joey shivered awake and kissed his shoulder. "Hm?"

"What did you mean by that?" Billy sounded even more pensive than he'd looked—Jesus, how long had they been dozing in their own bed? A couple hours?

"By what?" Joey closed his eyes tightly, snuggling closer. He just wanted to sleep. They hadn't held each other quite like this since New Year's.

"You really heard the same music Ric heard?" Billy almost sounded worried.

"Yeah," Joey murmured. "I wasn't sure at first, though."

"Why didn't you say something when he did?"

"Didn't want to scare you," Joey answered without thinking. _Shit_. "I mean, not like I thought you would've—"

"I just wondered," Billy said, nuzzling his hair. "It..."

"What?" Joey asked, lifting his head.

"It would be cool if it were real," Billy said. "That's all."

Joey lowered his head for a kiss, then paused. "God or ghosts?"

"I was talking about ghosts," Billy murmured, winding his fingers in Joey's hair.

"It would be," Joey said between kisses. "And it would...also be cool if they could...prove Bigfoot existed."

"For the record," Billy murmured, nuzzling Joey's cheek, "I _don't_ believe in that."

"Traitor," Joey mumbled. "What about Nessie?"

"I thought we were talking about ghosts." Billy was teasing, but only by half. There was still an edge to his voice that made Joey cling to him harder than ever.

"We are," Joey said firmly, closing his eyes as they shared another kiss. "Unless Nessie happens to be God."

"You never know," Billy murmured, holding him just as tightly.

* * *

"Snuffy, _no_ ," Joey groaned, squinting groggily over Billy's shoulder at Gina. She was watching the telephone cord snake past with a fair amount of interest.

"But—"

"I don't fucking care," Joey said, yawning. "We'll show up when we fucking want to, _then_ go to Bourbon Street. Later."

"Gimme the phone," Billy mumbled.

Joey shifted, handing it to him, then rolled over to burrow in the pillows. Billy squirmed after him, pulling the phone right along. Joey heard the cradle collide painfully with Gina's bowl and jumped.

"Jesus! Sorry," Billy gasped, curling an arm around Joey's middle. "Oh, shut the fuck up. Once again, do you have any idea what time it is? Yeah? Really? That's _great_ , Snuffy, that you've finally learned—yeah, fuck you, too—Snuffy? You know what?"

"Phone," Joey muttered, reaching up and over his shoulder to grab it away. "Snuffy, what the hell's your problem? Just take Hank."

"Fine, I will," Snuffy sulked. "If I can get him to wake up."

"What about Phil and Ric?"

"They talked all fucking night, even after we got the lights off!"

"Then what the fuck are you doing up?" Joey punched the pillow, groaning in silent agony to make Billy laugh.

Snuffy promptly hung up on him.

"Well?" Billy asked, giving Joey a quizzical look as he stretched over to put the phone back. "What's his problem, besides wanting to map Bourbon Street down to the last fire hydrant?"

"He's Snuffy."

Billy laughed, rolling back over to squirm against Joey. "No wonder you're so good at summaries."

"No fucking paper talk, uh-uh, not now." Joey pinched Billy's ass, though it was really too gentle for that. More of a grope.

"Not due till the end of April," Billy said, jumping a little.

"What time is it?"

"Snuffy didn't tell you?"

"No, he told _you_."

"Clock's right over there," Billy suggested helpfully, running his hand down Joey's thigh.

"I'm lazy," Joey mumbled against Billy's cheek.

"Ten o'clock."

Joey froze for a second, then relaxed. "Yeah. Too early."

"Mmhm," Billy agreed, rolling him over.

"M _hmm_." One more night just wouldn't be enough, but seeing as they had all _day_...

* * *

"Damn," Hank said, scanning Joey from head to toe. "You are dressed to _kill_."

Joey shrugged, glancing down at his jeans. Dark stonewash, no writing or holes. Maybe a little tighter than usual. Billy had tackled him on the bed for that, joking that he wasn't going to let him leave the room. _Then I should never let you out_ , Joey had countered, and Billy had let go of him.

"Yeah, not bad," Snuffy remarked, tugging on the dark yellow cuff of Joey's burgundy t-shirt. "Where'd you get that?"

"Art festival, what did you think?" Joey asked, plucking his hand away. It was printed in the same golden shade with a design that not even Joey could identify, except for the fact that it was abstract and he _liked_ it. Billy had also gotten on him about the fact that it was fitted.

"I think the earring's a little much," Phil said, but that tone mostly meant he was kidding.

"Hey, I looked all over fucking Boston for those beads," Joey said, adjusting the silver hoop he'd slipped them on. "Don't knock 'em."

"I just don't understand how you got it all to fucking _match_ ," Phil said, honest this time. He was in a pair of knee-length jean shorts and a dark blue collared shirt, pretty nice. Joey fought the impulse to say he didn't fucking know why Phil was complaining, he didn't seem to have any trouble matching himself.

"Garnet and amber, easy." 

"Yeah, for you," Billy said, picking up Phil's jibe smoothly. As if he wasn't wearing something to talk about: leather pants and no sleeves!

"Okay, enough with the fashion fuss," Ric said, emerging from the bathroom with a small towel still thrown over his head, working it through his hair vigorously. He was in a bright red button-down shirt and a pair of black jeans, and _damn_ if that didn't give the rest of them a run for their money. "Are we ready to go or what?"

"Yeah, once your hair's dry," Snuffy said flatly. His shirt was nice, but those old jeans and beaten Tevas could use some work, considering where they were headed. 

Ric threw the towel on the floor and combed through his hair with his fingers, smirking. "Ready when you are."

Snuffy's hand was already on the doorknob. "Let's go!"

Balconies and colored lights. Joey was sure he'd remember those shades of red, green, violet, and gold long after the rest of the trip faded, the street like a string of incandescent Mardi Gras beads vibrating with jazz and dance music. The varied beats mingled strangely, mapping the haphazard course of their feet across the pavement. It was easy to run into people if you weren't paying attention; Billy had to yank him out of the way a few times, or get him to turn his head.

The place was fucking _distracting_ , and Joey loved it.

"Well, we're here," Phil announced, stopping under some outlandishly decorated awning.

* * *

Hank herded the rest of them out of the way, earning a few annoyed looks from passers-by. Pressed back against the joint's front window, Joey was acutely aware of eyes on him from both sides. He remembered reading that if you were going to people-watch, Bourbon and Canal Streets were the places to do it. No fucking wonder. He'd never seen people dressed like this in his life, not even in New York. Either that or he just hadn't been often enough in the sections frequented by bohemians and drag queens. They all probably looked fucking boring, except for Billy and Ric. Joey caught a number of people lingering over his face, though, and wondered if it really _was_ the beads.

"Where are we?" Snuffy asked, looking around with wide eyes. More than he'd expected. He pulled a map out of his pocket, wrestling it open.

"Right here," Ric said, leaning over to point. "This is the 544 Club. It's also the address."

Joey traced the street's progress with his finger, impressed. "It goes up into the 900s," he said. Joey looked around, making a quick assessment of the clubs that he could see. All jazz, blues, and techno. Or just plain bars. Quite an array of shops, too—Snuffy would have a blast. Nothing out of the ordinary, except the occasional flashy individuals. Who were all probably headed for the opposite end of the street.

"There's also the 735 Club," Phil observed, pointing to the directory. "How creative."

"Blue Fugue Bar," Snuffy read. "Pirate's Alley. That's got to be around here somewhere."

"They've got a Tipitina's French Quarter," Hank said.

"We've already been to one of those," Joey protested, grabbing the map and folding it up. "Look, let's just _walk_."

Billy took the map and stuffed it in his pocket. "I'm all for that."

Joey grinned at him as they started back up the sidewalk, ignoring Snuffy's grumbling. "We should get dinner first."

"Yeah, someplace normal," Billy replied under his breath.

Joey laughed. "I don't think there's _any_ place around here you could call normal."

"The farther you go, the wilder stuff gets, right?"

"Supposedly." Joey took him by the elbow and pushed them a bit farther ahead so that the others wouldn't hear.

"We should save that for later." Underneath that cool demeanor, Billy was already impatient.

"That's the idea," Joey said between his teeth.

They ended up stopping at the 735 Club, after more than their fair share of hangups. Snuffy went crazy in a mask-maker's, proclaiming that he'd never find anything this good in Boston. They were made of leather, painted so delicately that Joey felt vaguely jealous of whoever had done them. Snuffy purchased two, one for Oberon and one for Titania. He made Billy and Joey model them, which certainly resulted in much private gratification.

"Oh, come on, no one will care," Snuffy protested as the waiter saw them to a booth. "Leave 'em on."

Joey handed the mask back over to Snuffy. "No thanks."

"Besides, I don't want to get food on it," Billy said, doing the same.

"Too bad it's not Mardi Gras," Ric said. "I would've gotten one."

"You can still _get_ one, genius," Snuffy said. "You had better hope that shop's still open when we head back."

Phil took Titania's mask away from Snuffy and studied the interior. "Hey, the artist signed these." He pointed out an elegant black scrawl absorbed in the leather.

"Looks like a different guy did this one," Hank said, studying the other.

"That's enough," Snuffy said, snatching Titania's mask away from Phil and tucking them both in the bag.

For club food, it was a lot better than Tipitina's had been. Billy kept stealing forkfuls of Joey's jambalaya, but that went largely unnoticed because Hank was doing the same to Snuffy's plate, and Ric had traded a few crab legs for some of Phil's stuffed crawfish. Despite a somewhat dubious look from the waiter when Billy had calmly given their drink orders, they all ended up with what they'd requested. Joey supposed he'd never live the virgin daiquiri down, but whatever—he was keeping an eye on Billy this time, just to make sure. Besides, they needed to keep their wits about them.

"Great music," Ric commented, cracking the last of his crab legs. "Seems like it's okay to dance here." He glanced longingly at the crowd, which consisted of quite a few attractive, sparsely dressed young women.

Phil wiped his fingers on a napkin, tossing it onto his plate. After two margaritas, he looked pretty loose. "Yeah, I like the sound of that."

"C'mon," Ric said, standing up easily. He had been sitting on the end next to Billy. 

Phil had to crawl over Hank and Snuffy, which almost resulted in a spilled mudslide. Hank threw up his hands and said he might as well get out, too, which left a somewhat sour-looking Snuffy sitting across from Joey. Billy skewered a piece of Joey's shrimp, absently studying the ceiling.

"What're you looking at?" He took another drink of his mudslide, but his eyes drifted after Hank anyway.

 _This is too good_. "Nothing," Joey said, taking another bite of jambalaya before gesturing toward the dance floor with his fork. "Why don't you go, if you're done eating?"

Snuffy smirked at him. "What, and miss the chance to talk you guys into—"

"No!" 

Joey grinned at Billy from behind his hand, enjoying Snuffy's indignation. He couldn't exactly ignore a refusal made in unison.

* * *

"I'm fucking _full_ ," Phil groaned, catching himself against a brick wall. "Remind not to eat that much again for at least a week."

"That'll be easy," Ric said. "In that long, we'll be back at Regis, and I don't think you'll _want_ to eat that much."

"No talking about school, got it?" Hank sounded irritable, as Snuffy was a bit off-balance and bumping into him at intervals. He'd been cited for bag duty, which didn't sit too well with him, either. Joey hoped that none of the masks' feathers ended up bent.

"I can't believe we're outta here tomorrow," Snuffy muttered, catching hold of Hank's arm as he almost tripped over a break in the sidewalk.

"Shut up, okay?" Billy suggested. "We can sleep in again. I don't want to hear another fucking word till we're _at_ the airport. Then you can bitch all you want." He turned his head and gave Joey a look that was surprisingly unguarded.

Joey blinked and looked straight ahead, or else he'd be in danger of tripping himself. "We're not done with this place. Look, there's more up ahead."

"Buncha parties," Snuffy said.

"Looks like it," Ric said, glancing across the street at a gaudy yellow sign, the design of which prominently featured _XXX_. He grinned at Ric, who had noticed the sign, too. "I don't think we're in Louisiana anymore."

"Sex clubs? C'mon, that's fucking lame," Hank said. "As far as I'm concerned, we stand a better chance just dancing."

"Spoilsport," Phil said. "I've never been to one before, and this might be my only chance. Shit, they really don't card around here!"

"Yeah," Ric said, pausing on the curb. "Exactly."

Joey glanced up at the numbers on the side of the building. _740_. The place was called Rawhide 2010, and a single glance in the window was enough to tell him they'd finally hit the right territory. Billy gave him a questioning look, and Joey flashed him a discreet thumbs-up.

"Why don't we go a little further and see what else is here? We can split up after that, if we have to," Joey suggested. "It's not like we're so far from the hotel that any of us will get desperately lost."

"I don't know about that," Hank muttered, tilting his head at Snuffy.

"I beg your pardon?" Snuffy said, letting go of Hank's arm and standing up a little too straight.

"Yeah, fine," Phil laughed, waving Snuffy off. "Let's go."

After a few more blocks, Joey was pretty sure that this _was_ where all of the eye-catching folks had been headed. Billy was perpetually on the edge of cracking up, but he didn't give in, and while Hank argued the fate of the bag with Snuffy, Ric was beginning to look distinctly uncomfortable.

"I don't know about you guys, but I think we're fish out of water."

Phil watched a pair of men in evening gowns emerge from a doorway a few yards ahead of them, somewhere between amused and scandalized. Pretty different from what he'd done at Halloween, that was for sure. "Yeah," he agreed. "Not only is this were all the strip joints are, it's—"

"Hey, look," Billy said, sounding much farther away than he'd been a few seconds ago. Joey blinked, noticing him just a couple of doorways beyond the one that the drag queens had emerged from. Waving his arms and pointing at the sign. "This place is named after Lafitte!"

"Since when did you have a fucking pirate fetish?" Ric asked. Snuffy burst out in a fit of laughter so fierce that Hank _had_ to hold him up. Joey stepped on his foot, and that put an end to all of it pretty fast. _Jesus, stop it!_ _You'll ruin everything_.

"Just get up here!" Billy persisted, beckoning. Looking straight at Joey as if to say, _Now or never, here's your chance_.

Joey led the way through the milling crowd that had developed just since they'd gotten there. Phil was right behind him, followed by Hank and Snuffy. Ric was hanging back, kind of uncertain. Joey hadn't realized he was so uncomfortable. Was this a bad idea after all?

"Cafe Lafitte in Exile," Hank read, shading his eyes against the bright neon sign. "Looks like they've got a second floor."

"I read about this place," Joey said carefully. "It's been here for a long time. Tennessee Williams frequented it."

"Playwright?" Snuffy chirped.

"Yeah, what other Tennessee Williams do you know of?" Phil asked. He walked right in, apparently not paying attention to details obscured by the flashing lights and loud music.

"Oh, for God's sake," Ric muttered, impatient. He followed Phil inside, glancing over his shoulder.

"Right behind you," Billy said, nudging Joey's shoulder. He looked like he couldn't resist grinning; the situation was fucking hilarious already.

"Enough blocking the way, asshole." Hank had Snuffy by the arm, pushing right past them.

The first thing Joey noticed, oddly enough, wasn't the fact that the majority of the couples dancing and lounging against the bar were comprised entirely of—well, _guys_. What stood out were the few women present— _very_ few—mostly just talking to guys who he assumed were their friends, but a couple of them were definitely more into each _other_. Joey heard Billy let out a soft, whistling breath, and once more, he was altogether too tempted to laugh.

Ric and Phil were backed against the closest wall, stuck like magnets. They found the rest of them with furtive eyes, gesturing frantically. Hank and Snuffy got there first, Snuffy blinking at the smoky, strobe-drenched scenery as if he didn't quite understand what was happening. Hank, on the other hand, _definitely_ understood, and he had caught hold of Billy's shirt as he passed, and Joey had no choice but to follow. They formed a sort of unintentional huddle.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Ric whispered to Billy, his eyes widening at something just out of the line of Joey's sight. "I hate to break it to you, but this is—um—"

"Ric's never seen a gay bar, that's all," Phil said with a smirk.

"What, and you have?" Hank demanded. "It's a little shocking when you're not expecting it, thank you very much!"

"Providence has a few, sure," Phil said evenly, looking at Joey. "And I'm sure Joey's seen enough in New York."

"Damn straight," Joey said indifferently, and it really didn't strike him as amusing till Billy cracked up.

"New Haven," he managed. "Mom lives in New Haven. Not crawling with 'em or anything, but it's not like—"

"Would you stop _talking_ about it?" Snuffy demanded, finally cutting into the conversation. "This song rocks."

"God, it figures the best music would be—" Ric cut off abruptly, his head jerking in the direction of a hand on his shoulder.

The guy wasn't exactly a stunner, but in the low light, Joey could tell that he had nice eyes and an even nicer smile. "Care for a dance?"

"Er, no," Ric stammered, eyes flying back and forth between the intruder and Phil. "I, um, promised..."

The guy just smiled again, putting his hands in the air before walking away. "It's cool."

Phil slapped his hand over his mouth and slid down the wall, laughing so hard his sides probably hurt. Snuffy was hanging onto Hank's arm again, but it didn't matter much, as Hank was laughing way too hard himself to care. This had been a better idea than Joey had initially imagined.

"Hey," Billy whispered, drawing Joey's attention away from the spectacle.

"Yeah?"

Billy glanced toward the door, then back at Joey. "Someone's watching you."

"Huh?" Joey frowned, following the path of Billy's eyes. Couple kissing against the wall, really pierced-up guy who looked like he was waiting for somebody—oh, _shit_. Yeah, that dude in the blue mesh shirt was _definitely_ trying to pretend he wasn't looking—

At _Billy_.

"Fucker," Joey breathed, turning back to face Billy. _I'll show you_. Billy was as warm in his arms as always, maybe even warmer because of the close space, the air heavy with musk, perfume, and sweat. He backed up against the wall beside Phil, tugging Billy along with him, almost hip to hip. 

Billy squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again, blinking at Joey before leaning in to whisper against Joey's ear, "What the _fuck_ are you doing?"

Joey didn't have time to respond. Hank and Ric were already staring at them with eyes wider than saucers. Good thing Billy couldn't see. Snuffy and Phil were too busy trying to hide that they'd apparently noticed they were the only ones _not_ shocked. Which would be fucking hilarious as soon as Joey could stammer out his excuse, which wasn't forthcoming, because Billy had murmured _oh, fuck it_ and kissed the side of his neck.

"You don't want to get hit on, right?" Joey hissed, letting his fingers twine in Billy's hair and gesturing at Ric with the other. He hoped his look was hard enough.

Ric opened his mouth, then closed it. "I..." 

Billy lifted his head and looked at Ric coolly, a mischievous grin spreading across his features. "Then either _play along_ or _get out_."

Joey felt all the panic drain out of his stomach as giddy excitement took its place. He took a minute to smirk at Billy as if to say _you're fucking brilliant_ , which of course he was, but this whole damn setup had been Joey's idea in the first place, and he was going to bask in it, dammit. He wound his arms around Billy's neck and looked innocently at Hank, partly because looking at Snuffy wouldn't do much for his composure.

"That is the fucking _craziest_ shit you guys ever..." Ric didn't finish, because he was already halfway to the door, bound and determined not to let them see him crack up. Once he'd managed to collect himself, he paused, looking back at Phil. "Are you staying here, or do you wanna—?"

Phil wiped his eyes and flashed Billy a grin before weaving his way through a few new arrivals to catch up with Ric. "Yeah, let's go. God, you are _such_ a douchebag..." Something vaguely resembling an argument broke out between the two of them as they left, but Joey wasn't going to try that hard to analyze it.

Completely ignoring Hank and Snuffy, Billy leaned in to nuzzle Joey's neck again. "You're planning the fucking pranks from now on, got it?" His breath was hot, _wonderful_ , filled with more praise than even his voice. 

Joey shivered and melted, instinctively seeking Billy's lips. "No I'm not. Enjoy it while—"

"You want me to fucking _prove_ it? _Fine!_ " 

Billy turned his head at the same time Joey turned his, which resulted in an awkward collision, which at first subtracted some of the credibility of what Joey was seeing, at least until he remembered that he hadn't had anything to drink. Hank had pinned Snuffy against the wall just a few feet away, holding him up with the entire length of his body, the bag lying abandoned at their feet. The whole thing reminded Joey of nothing so much as the trip they'd taken to New York last spring. He remembered sitting through the lair scene of _Phantom of the Opera_ and wondering numbly what it would be like if someone kissed him like that.

From the look of things, Snuffy was finding out. 

"Holy _shit_ ," Billy murmured, turning his head to look at Joey. Carefully this time.

"You knew it was coming," Joey said. "Sooner or later."

"What the fuck are you, the Matchmaker?"

"No, but I'm sure Snuffy would have a fit if he heard you call me that."

Billy grinned and gave Joey a quick kiss, nuzzling back down to his neck again. "Wanna stay here?"

"Nah, let's leave them." Billy smelled good, but the rest of the place was ruining it. "They know the way back."

"You're evil, Joey." Billy kissed him again, slow and lingering.

Joey waited till he finished, then squirmed out from between Billy and the wall, grinning back at him. "You had better not let _me_ hear you call me that."

* * *

Billy tossed the room key on their bedstand, bending down to tap on the fishbowl. "Hey there," he said softly, yawning. "Have we neglected you?"

"Fortunately for us, there's housekeeping," Joey said, flopping down on the edge of the bed. He attacked the laces of his Docs, annoyed at himself for double-tying.

Billy put his face down close to the glass and stuck his tongue out. He turned around, crawling till he settled down in front of Joey and grabbed his other foot, working the knot loose with expert fingers. He yawned again, pausing to rub his eyes.

"Glad we got a cab," Joey said, abandoning his right foot in favor of reaching to stroke Billy's hair. "You look beat."

"Only in the prank department." Billy yanked Joey's left boot off and tossed it on the carpet, then quickly untied the other. "You were out to get me, too, weren't you?" Billy's tired eyes weren't accusing in the least. Just _asking_.

Joey skimmed his fingers down Billy's temple to his cheek, stroking gently as Billy pulled his other boot off. "Yeah, I was."

Billy went up on his knees, walking in close against him. "Why?"

Joey lowered his head for a kiss, then replied, "To see if I could."

"Take me off guard?" Billy asked, nuzzling Joey's neck. 

_Jesus, you know I can't think when you do that_. "Yes," Joey said, stroking Billy's hair again.

"Of all the ways to do it," Billy laughed, launching a tickle-attack on Joey's sides, "that's the one way I would never have expected. Congratulations."

"Hey, _hey_ , stop!" Joey twisted frantically, but Billy had too strong a hold on him. " _Billy!_ "

"Why should I?" Billy asked, relentless. "You didn't."

Joey finally managed to thrash free and crawl backwards across the bed, gasping. "'Cause...can't breathe..."

"Sorry, that excuse only works with Snuffy." Billy pounced onto the bed, tackling him.

Joey shrieked. "I _said_ —"

" _Shhh_ ," Billy murmured. Just holding him, not tickling at all.

"Fucker," Joey muttered, attacking Billy's neck with soft, biting kisses. "Can't even play fair..."

" _Mm_ ," Billy murmured, and that was enough to kill the playing around right there.

Joey lingered over the hollow of Billy's throat, kissing the spot he'd just bitten. "Yeah?"

Billy's hands went still on his sides, then slid around Joey's waist, pulling him closer. "One more night."

Joey buried his face against Billy's neck. "I know," he mumbled.

Billy kissed his hair, stroking up to the nape of Joey's neck. "Wish we could do this every day," he whispered. "I'm spoiled."

 _No kidding_ , Joey thought, but that wasn't nearly romantic enough. "Me too," he whispered back, which was probably more lame than romantic, but it was _true_.

"What should we do about it?" Billy's fingers were creeping up his shirt now, teasing all over again.

"Take advantage," Joey suggested, tugging on Billy's shirt.

They were usually in a hurry to undress, but whether it was the fatigue or wanting to make it last, they managed to take their time about it. Billy wanted a kiss after every article of clothing removed, which proved both mesmerizing _and_ frustrating. By the time they had both gotten down to just boxers, Joey wasn't so patient anymore, no matter how willing Billy was to keep still and let every available inch of his skin be touched. For a little while, anyway.

"Joey..." He abruptly looked up, running his fingers down the lengths of Joey's arms until they reached his fists against the pillow, almost feverish. "Want you."

Joey bent down and kissed him fiercely. He'd had enough of just _looking_. "You've got me. Any fucking way you want." 

Billy returned the kiss, trembling under him. "Could start by letting me turn the tables," he whispered, skimming his fingers down Joey's spine. "Unless you're tired of that." Another kiss, this one deepest of all. 

Joey shivered under his touch, pressing into it. "Nope."

"Good," Billy whispered. He ran his fingers back up to Joey's nape, gathering him close before rolling them over.

Kisses, more kisses than Joey could count. Billy wouldn't stop—or _couldn't_ , which was more likely, because Joey was having a hard time pulling away himself—for anything, except to caress Joey here and there, retribution for the tease after undressing. Joey shivered again and pressed up against the brush of his hand, whimpering when it proved much too brief. Billy was so fucking precise about it, probably set on leaving him a begging mess.

"I'll come if you don't—"

" _Shhh_." Billy silenced him with another kiss, abruptly rolling away from him. 

Joey propped himself up on his elbows, glancing down over the edge of the bed. "We brought it, right?"

Billy crawled back onto the bed beside him almost instantly, tossing the tube onto the pillow before reaching to brush Joey's cheek. "Yep," he murmured, touching his lips to Joey's forehead.

Joey closed his eyes and fell back against the pillow, shifting against the warmth of Billy's body hovering over him again. "No more fucking around, okay?" He'd meant it as a tease, but it was more of a pleading whisper.

Billy left his head spinning with another kiss—God, would he be able to _breathe_ after this?—and reached for the lube, uncapping it quickly. Joey tried to grab it away from him, but Billy protested, rolling away just long enough to slick himself with a harsh hiss of breath. Joey squeezed his eyes shut, gasping hard. Fuck, he'd come if he _watched_.

"No more fucking around," Billy murmured against his ear, and Joey could feel him close again. "Except..." Billy's fingers again, only not teasing this time. Slick and pressing into him, so close he ached, almost _too_ —

"Billy!" Joey gritted his teeth, swallowing another cry.

"Right here," Billy murmured, nudging up against him. "Oh... _Joey_..."

Sliding into him, thrusting deep. Joey jerked up under the brush of Billy's hand, coming helplessly. Long moments passed before he could think clearly enough to let go of the comforter and wrap his arms around Billy, holding him through his release, shaken by Billy's broken moans against his ear.

"Love this," Joey whispered, lifting one shaky hand to stroke Billy's hair. He opened his eyes to a patch of pale, shadowed ceiling, then closed them again, pressing a kiss against Billy's damp forehead. "Love _you_."

Billy mumbled something inarticulate, snuggling closer against Joey. His breathing hadn't leveled off yet. 

Joey rubbed his back, quieting him. "S'okay," he said softly. "Just don't fall asleep on me." 

"Are you kidding?" Billy laughed, lifting his head enough to nuzzle Joey's cheek. "That was just a warm-up."

* * *

"Where _is_ everybody?" Joey asked, handing Billy a handful of creamers for his coffee.

Phil rubbed his eyes and stared blankly at the placemat in front of him. "Let's see...Ric's showering, and when I left, Hank and Snuffy hadn't gotten up yet. I think Snuffy got spooked again last night. Using Hank for a fucking teddybear."

Billy choked on a sip of his coffee, then forced himself to swallow. "Gah, wrong pipe," he gasped, thunking his fist against his chest. "Long night, huh?"

Phil looked up, grinning. "Worth it, though. I can't wait to tell Snuffy it was better than his fucking magazines."

"Good for you," Joey said, concentrating on tearing three sugar packets open at once. He didn't dare look at Billy, or they'd both crack up and it would be obvious. "Did Ric enjoy it?"

"How the hell should I know? I was watching the girls," Phil said wryly, handing Joey a spoon when he discovered he was lacking one. "By the way, that was some funny shit you two pulled yesterday. I'd fucking pay to see _that_ again."

Joey glanced sidelong at Billy, who was smirking into his coffee. "Well, y'know...kind of hard to resist."

Phil took a sip of his orange juice, regarding them with thoughtful mischief. "Caught you off guard, huh, Billy?"

Billy choked in earnest this time, spraying his own placemat. "I beg your pardon?"

"Joey's one up on you," Phil said, smirking back at him. "You'd better think up a doozy for when we get back to Regis."

"A doozy? Can I help?" Ric slid into the booth beside Phil, elbowing him hard enough to knock him into the wall.

"Once I've thought it up." Billy gave Joey's ankle a warning nudge under the table. _Just leave it at that_.

"Are the sleepyheads up yet?" Phil asked. "They won't have time to pack."

"Not when I left," Ric said, shrugging. "They must've gone back to the cemetery last night to pay Marie a farewell visit," he mused. "Snuffy's fucking freaked."

Joey barely managed to swallow his tea. "Guess they took your whole ghosts thing to heart."

"What time do we take off?" Phil asked. "One o'clock, or something like that? My ticket's up in the room."

"One thirty-five," Joey said. "So we'd better leave here in about two hours."

Snuffy and Hank didn't show up until the rest of them had ordered, but when they did, it was a sight worth remembering. To Phil and Ric, they probably passed as just plain beat, but Joey knew Snuffy a little too well for that. There was a haziness about him that fatigue couldn't quite account for, as if it took every fiber of his being not to run into things just because he wasn't _seeing_ them till the last second, lost in a fit of recollection. Hank trailed along behind him, passing more for exhausted, but there was a self-assured smile about him that showed more in his eyes than on his lips. Damn, _had_ they?

"What's for breakfast, gentlemen?" Hank asked, scooting in beside Billy. His voice was rich, relaxed. Not a care in the world.

Snuffy blinked, almost like he couldn't believe there wasn't any room for him beside Hank. He sat down beside Ric, offering them all a vague good-morning wave.

Joey took another hasty sip of his tea, listening to Billy's teeth clink on the rim of his coffee mug.

Yeah, they had.

* * *

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Snuffy caught Joey's sleeve before he could follow Billy into the men's room.

"Go ahead." 

Snuffy hesitated for a minute, nervously glancing around. He set his carry-on down and leaned back against the wall, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Joey set his own down, then leaned beside Snuffy. "They're not gonna be in there forever, and I really get the impression—"

"You got the right impression," Snuffy said flatly. He looked kind of pale.

Joey frowned. "Is there a problem? I mean, seems like you'd be..." _Happy? How the fuck can you expect him to know if he's happy? It wasn't that easy, or have you forgotten already?_

"No, there isn't. Not really. I mean, it's weird," Snuffy admitted, giving Joey the ghost of a smile. "What I mean is...um...what'd you _do_ , exactly?"

Joey gave him a look. "Fuck, Snuffy. D'you mean last night?"

"No, I meant the first time," Snuffy said bluntly. His tongue seemed to be working again.

"Oh, that." Joey glanced briefly up the wide hall, watching Hank order something from the snack bar. "We just...touched."

Snuffy nodded quickly, looking almost relieved. "Yeah... _yeah_ , that sounds about right. Y'know, I just..."

Joey punched his arm, grinning. "No big deal, okay?" _Well, I guess it actually is one, but at first, you really don't think_...

"Yeah," Snuffy said, glancing after Hank, who was leaving the counter with two cups in hand. He burst into the most ridiculous smile that Joey had ever seen.

 _Yeah_ , Joey thought, turning as Billy touched his arm. _Biggest fucking deal in the world_.

"Ready to head for the gate?" Billy asked, bending to pick Joey's bag up.

"Sure," Joey said. He patted his pocket, making sure he correctly remembered sticking some money there. "Want some coffee first?"

* * *

Joey closed the window and turned the monitor off, swiveling around in his chair. "Phil's home safe. Haven't heard from the others yet."

"Probably won't till morning," Billy said, staring up at the ceiling. He was sprawled out on the guest bed that he hadn't slept in during Thanksgiving break.

"Yeah," Joey said, yawning. He got up and walked away from the desk, then crawled onto the bed beside Billy, sprawling out on his stomach.

"Hey, look on the bright side," Billy said, turning his head to look at Joey. "It's still Friday. Don't have to be back at school till Sunday night."

Joey rested his head on his arms and sighed. "I know. Still wish we hadn't left, though."

Billy rolled onto his side, reaching over to stroke Joey's cheek. "What do you miss the most?"

"The cathedral, probably," Joey said. "Sharing that room with you."

Billy chuckled, leaning over to kiss him. "At least we've still got a room. Hell, we've got two. How did you end up with adjoining ones, anyway?"

"After the house was built, Mom and Dad let me pick. These were supposed to be guest rooms, but I thought it was cool, you know? Like...if I ever got a brother or a sister..." Joey closed his eyes and shrugged. "Wishful thinking. This room almost never gets used. Tad stayed in it a couple of times."

Billy frowned. "Tad...he was the youngest one. Jerk-off, right?"

"More than he used to be, that's for sure."

Billy slipped an arm around Joey, rolling him back against himself. "D'you have any other cousins?"

"A girl on my Mom's side. Katie," Joey said. "She's twenty. We almost never see her."

"I don't have any cousins."

Joey tipped his head back against Billy's shoulder, trying to look at him upside-down. "Lucky you."

"I wouldn't say that." Billy kissed Joey's cheek. "You're not _un_ lucky to have Dom and Katie. Unless Katie's a bitch."

"She's not," Joey said. "It's just that I don't know her very well. Gives funny advice, though."

Billy kissed his neck. "Such as?"

"I don't think she realized it was advice, actually," Joey said. "It's just—this one time, a couple years ago? She'd just broken up with somebody, really pissed. And she torched the guy, then told me all this stuff, maybe hoping I'd never make the same mistakes."

"Seems like she trusts you." Billy stifled a yawn.

"I guess she doesn't have anyone else to talk to. Aunt Christie's a nightmare."

"Her Mom?" 

"Yeah."

Billy took a deep breath, tightening his hold on Joey. "Man, why do parents suck so much?"

"Don't know." Joey closed his eyes. "Mom didn't suck."

"I didn't think so," Billy said softly, sounding apologetic.

"Your parents, though..."

Billy blew a raspberry against Joey's neck.

Joey squirmed, laughing. "Hey!"

Billy clapped a hand over his mouth, then yawned.

"Hey, you're really tired."

"So are you."

Joey stifled a yawn of his own. "You think?"

"Smartass." Billy let go of Joey and sat up, then tugged Joey up by the arms. "Let's go to bed."

"Okay." Joey swayed for a second, holding onto Billy. 

Billy hugged him close, kissing his neck with a soft laugh. "In a minute." 

Before closing his eyes, Joey glanced over Billy's shoulder, catching the flicker of candles through the open door of his room.


	14. Never Did Run Smooth

"What kind of a question _was_ that?" Phil groaned, kicking his shoes off so hard that they bounced off the wall. "What do I look for in a friend, _specifically_ , and why? It's hard enough to answer on-the-spot shit like that in English! I fucking swear!"

"It is," Billy said, glancing across the room at Joey, who was busy pretending not to pay attention. "That's probably why they asked it."

"In front of the whole fucking _school?_ " Phil flopped down on his bed, one arm flung across his eyes. "They could've just stuck with stuff like 'What do you see yourself doing in ten years?', at least that's straightforward."

"Emotional content counts, I guess." Billy walked over to the bunk and put his backpack down. The situation was _beyond_ fucking awkward.

Joey shut the closet doors and shrugged into his pullover, glancing across the room at Phil. He gave Billy a helpless look, like he didn't know what to say.

"Fucking dumbest assembly ever." Phil's voice was muffled; he'd rolled over against his pillow. "Congrats, roomie. Nerves of fucking _steel_."

"I wouldn't say that." Joey's tone was light and cautious. "You just have to ignore everybody."

"If you're so good at mastering stage fright," Phil retorted, unexpectedly changing the subject, "then why didn't you try out for the play?"

"Not my thing," Joey said.

"Bullshit," Phil muttered, sitting up. "You've got that band back in Jersey."

"Yeah, and we haven't played together in fucking _ages_."

"Hey, guys, are we gonna celebrate or what? It's Friday," Billy reminded them, sitting down on the edge of his bed. "And we have a champion and a runner-up in our midst."

Joey sat down beside him, wearing a downright grateful look. "Sounds cool to me."

 _Ouch. Not the right thing to say, Joey._ "Hey, Phil?" Billy bit his lip, it was worth a shot.

Phil was staring at the floor. "Yeah, what."

"You used the future tense more efficiently than Joey did." Billy caught Joey's wrist before he could punch his arm. _Sorry, love._

Phil looked up, half smiling. "You'd know, too."

"Why didn't you enter?" Joey demanded.

"Not my thing," Billy replied, grinning. "So what'll it be?"

"Get the guys and go to dinner, I guess," Phil said with a resigned sigh. "Not like you can _really_ party around here."

"I'm not that hungry," Joey admitted.

"Jesus, the winners are fucking spoilsports," Billy retorted. "C'mon, there's gotta be something. I'm _not_ letting you two—"

A knock interrupted him, followed by Phil springing off his bed to answer the door. Joey scooted closer to Billy, leaning like he was tired. He'd been up half the night reviewing vocabulary lists and verb conjugations. Billy hadn't heard his reading lamp click off until well past midnight, after Phil had fallen asleep with his cheek smashed against the _passé composé_ review page of his French book. He hoped the competitive shit was over with. Joey was way too edgy.

"Hey," Ric said, poking his head in as soon as Phil had the door open a crack. "Great job, guys. Anyone wanna do Monday's workbook assignment for me?"

"Get lost," Phil said, but his face lit up like he hadn't been expecting more praise. "Or maybe ask Joey. That's his department, not mine."

"Sorry, I take weekends off," Joey said immediately. He gave Ric his best apologetic look.

"Liar," Phil said at about the same time Billy was thinking it. He hung on the doorknob, raising his eyebrows at Ric. "Dinner?"

"Yeah, actually, that's what I wanted to ask. Snuffy and Hank are down there already. Couldn't wait."

"Aw, how thoughtful." Billy rolled his eyes, then turned to look at Joey. "You sure you're not hungry?"

"What, you think I get my kicks lying to you guys?"

"That's cool, you've got a few hours," Ric said, watching Phil hunt around for his left shoe. "Hey, Billy—you coming along?"

"Nah," he said. "Not that hungry, either." _Besides, I've got Joey duty._

Ric nodded, eyes flicking over at Joey for a split second. "Right. See you guys later?"

"I'm not rushing," Phil said, shoving his feet into his sneakers. "Think Snuffy and Hank would be up for some basketball?"

"We'll meet you in the gym later," Joey offered. "How about that?"

"Okay, cool," Ric said, stepping out of the room with a glance over his shoulder at Phil. "Need some help tying those?"

"Fuck off," Phil said, pulling the laces tight. He stood up with a huff. "Ready when you are."

"S'go."

Even after the door closed, Billy just sat there for a few seconds. Joey's head dropped against his shoulder with a sigh of warm breath close to his ear. Billy turned his head and kissed Joey's hair. Funny to think that beating five of their classmates wasn't enough to put a smile on Joey's face, not even in private.

"Sorry," Joey murmured, lifting his head. "It's just, I'd rather..." He shifted away from Billy, scooting back far enough to lie on Billy's pillow, arms flung up over his head. "You know. Long day."

"Don't give me that," Billy said, crawling after him. "You'd just rather celebrate in private, that's what."

"Hey, Phil took the hint," Joey said, shrugging against the sheets. "He studied his ass off, did a damn good job, but he insists on being a fucking crybaby."

"Give him a break, Joey." Billy settled in beside him, leaning over for a quick kiss. "He knew he didn't have a chance against you, but he could dream."

"He didn't have to make me feel fucking guilty for winning! What was I supposed to do, sacrifice the chance to say que je t'aime bien avec tout mon coeur, et peut-être plus?"

Billy laughed, nuzzling a path from Joey's cheek down to his collar. "If you'd said it like that, word for word, we'd have trouble on our hands."

"C'est vrai," Joey said softly, stroking Billy's hair. "It's fucking true."

Billy sucked in his breath, pressing a hasty kiss against Joey's neck. "Pourquoi?"

"Well," Joey said, taking one of Billy's hands, guiding it up to his shirt buttons, "you—embrasses très bien, d'abord."

"I kiss well just for _starters_?" Billy asked, raising an eyebrow. He worked the first button free, slipping his fingers underneath to brush Joey's skin. "Dis-moi plus."

"Greedy," Joey breathed, tilting his head up for a kiss as Billy worked his way down the row of buttons. "Alors, je mourrais pour tes mains."

"You'd die for my hands, huh?" Billy laughed, undoing the last button and gliding his fingers over Joey's stomach since, hey, hands were what he wanted. "Et moi, pour _tes_ doigts..."

"Hey, no fair, I was— _um_ —gonna say something about your fingers next, honest." Joey squirmed under his touch, trying to get him to move lower.

"Aw, c'mon, that's not _all_ ," Billy pouted, sliding his hand up Joey's chest instead. "Le reste de moi est laid, je devine."

"You guess wrong," Joey informed him, scooting farther up against the pillow so that Billy's fingers had nowhere to go but down. "You couldn't be ugly if you tried."

"Ne trichez pas," Billy scolded, snatching his hand away. " _Tsk_."

"I didn't fucking cheat! Je ne mente pas, idiot. Tu es si bel que—"

Okay, so being told he was beautiful deserved a little more reciprication than just words. Joey had, after all, started off with kissing, and he didn't seem disappointed that Billy wanted to backtrack. Joey broke away just long enough to get rid of his pullover and his shirt, which wasn't in the least disappointing, either. There wasn't a single thing not to love about the way he moved—arms careless and easy, curve of his back graceful. Billy tugged Joey away from the edge of the bed and into his lap, nuzzling at Joey's nape. He whispered that he loved the way Joey smelled, hoping he'd gotten the words right. Joey trembled, seizing one of Billy's hands again, this time tugging it to the waist of his jeans. Billy ran his thumb around the button, breathing against Joey's hair: _I love the way you feel, I love everything_.

" _Fais_ quelque chose!"

"Do something? Joey, _Joey_ ," Billy murmured. "Patience." He unbuttoned Joey's fly, taking his time with the zipper.

"You've proved your fucking point," Joey gasped. "I wouldn't have beat—"

"You would've," Billy said softly, pushing Joey's jeans as far down and off his hips as he could. "You beat 'em all, and you talk me under the table. Joeylove, _relax_..."

Joey's head tilted back against his shoulder, and he somehow managed to get his jeans kicked off in one complicated wriggle. Billy held him steady, still murmuring whatever came to mind. _You're wonderful, I've missed this, I want you._ Fucking finals preparation, and dammit, rehearsals were gonna start any day now. They hadn't been alone in a week. 

Joey twisted around in his arms without warning, knocking Billy flat against the pillow. _Toi aussi_ , Joey was saying, barely audible against his ear as he tugged Billy's shirt up as far as it would go. _You too._ So sweet it burned, no matter what language he used. _Je t'aime ta voix, Joey, your voice, s'il te...please..._

"I think that's enough," Joey whispered, helping him out of his shirt. Then his jeans, which had gotten really, _really_ fucking uncomfortable. Billy realized he didn't know the word for that and laughed. "Hey, what's so funny?" Joey pushed him back against the pillow again, demanding, his warm body covering Billy's.

"You are," Billy said, grinning up at him. "I love that, too."

Joey paused, leaning in halfway, giving Billy a flustered smile. "I don't know which language is worse. I can't fucking concentrate."

"Then don't," Billy said softly, sneaking one hand up behind his head, urging him down for a kiss. "I'll think for you."

"But—"

"Shhh." A quick roll and Joey was pinned under him. Much better. "Let me," Billy whispered, not quite sure what he intended to do. He trailed kisses from Joey's cheek down to his neck, lingering over the hollow of his throat before moving down to his chest. _Whatever you want, Joey. Just show me._

"Billy." Joey's voice was harsh, almost a whisper. Not letting himself make noise. _Wanting_ to.

Billy moved over to his other nipple, nuzzling at it before tasting with gentle licks. "Hmmm?"

"Oh, _fuck_." Soft moan, but nice and audible.

"Love the way you sound," Billy murmured, rewarding Joey with a long, careless lick from bellybutton to heart.

" _Billy._ " Joey's voice was hushed again, a rough hiss. He panted, running his fingers restlessly through Billy's hair.

Billy nuzzled back down to Joey's bellybutton, bracing himself on his elbows. "Joey?"

"Jesus Christ, fucking _tease!_ " Joey gasped, his fingers tight in Billy's hair.

"Love the way you taste, too," Billy murmured, nuzzling Joey's hard-on before taking a lick.

He reached up and pried Joey's fingers loose, letting Joey squeeze his hands instead. Joey moaned when Billy took him in his mouth, stifling it in the crook of his arm. So fucking beautiful like that—eyes squeezed shut, whole body tense. Billy choked back a groan, sucking harder. Any second now, the way Joey was shaking, jerking up into Billy's mouth like he couldn't help it. _I love the way you can't fucking control yourself when I do this._

Billy held him still through the rest of it, steadied Joey's last thrusts as he came with a helpless cry. "Easy, easy," Billy murmured against his stomach, resting his cheek there. He'd barely gotten the chance to swallow. "So good."

Joey let go of Billy's hands, sliding his own shakily up Billy's arms. "Here," he whispered. "Billy."

Billy slid up the length of his body, rolling them over onto their sides. "Hey," he murmured, kissing Joey's forehead. "Feel better?"

Joey laughed unexpectedly, curling close enough to make Billy shiver. "Better than that."

Billy kissed his temple. "That's good."

"Love you," Joey mumbled, squirming again. His thigh slid up between Billy's, pressing gently.

Billy choked on a laugh of his own, sliding his hand down to the small of Joey's back. "Show me."

Ironic, that the last coherent thing Billy could remember saying wasn't even in English, but Joey was so fucking _good_ at this that he wouldn't be shocked if French were somehow the default for...oh, _God_ Joey's _mouth_...

"Shhh," Joey said softly, nuzzling Billy's stomach afterward. "Easy yourself."

Billy panted, trembling under Joey's light caresses up and down his thighs. "Joey."

" _Mmm_." Joey slumped, stifling a yawn against Billy's thigh. Fucking tickled.

"Get up here," Billy said, tugging on Joey's shoulders. "You should rest."

Joey crawled up beside him and settled down. He nodded, yawning again. "Go find the guys or something, I'll set the alarm for—"

"You're not setting any fucking alarm, and I'm staying right here." Billy slid an arm around him, snuggling up against Joey's back. "Can't even find the time for a proper date."

Joey laughed silently, but Billy could feel it. "Yeah. Guess we need to work on that."

"You bet," Billy murmured, nuzzling into Joey's hair. Too fucking bad they couldn't have stayed in New Orleans. 

Billy couldn't remember falling asleep, but he distincly remembered _not_ locking the door as soon as he started awake. The knock sounded again, still soft, but curt and impatient. Jesus, he shouldn't panic. None of the guys knocked like that, but it was probably just somebody from up the hall or—

"Mr. Tepper, you have ten seconds to open this door."

 _Fuck!_ Parker making house calls? Billy disentangled himself from Joey carefully, his mind racing. Count of ten, count of ten. He pulled the covers up to Joey's shoulders; he could work with that. But it didn't help the fact that he was fucking _naked_ and their clothes were all over the floor— _shit!_ Billy snagged his t-shirt and squirmed into it, followed by the nearest pair of boxers, which happened to be Joey's, but hell, Parker wouldn't know that. He kicked Joey's jeans and shirt under the bed—everything else had fallen on the other side, he fucking _hoped_ —and raced over to the door, almost tripping over Phil's backpack.

"Hey, sorry," Billy panted, yanking the door open. "I was, um..."

"Running the mile?" Parker asked, raising his eyebrows. "Not likely. Can I ask you something, Mr. Tepper?"

Billy ran his fingers through his hair, shrugging. "Yeah, sure." _Breathe_.

Parker glanced over Billy's shoulder, surveying the room. "Your roommate's exhausted, I see."

"Yeah," Billy said, stepping forward, forcing Parker into the hall. "Studied all night."

Parker's eyes lingered on the bunk for a moment before he shook his head and focused on Billy again. "Look, when you two don't show up for supper at about the same time there's an impressive leak in the first floor bathroom, I consider that suspicious, understood?"

"Yes, sir. But as you can clearly see, we weren't there," Billy pointed out. 

"Yes," Parker said contemplatively. "I suppose that would be the key, wouldn't it. But if I find out you had anything to do with this in any way, shape, or _form_ —"

"Um, sir, you're going to wake Joey up."

Parker scowled, then ran his hand across his forehead and took a deep breath. "Have a good evening, Mr. Tepper. Back to reading, or whatever it was."

"Yes, sir." Billy waited until Parker was halfway up the hall to close the door. He staggered and locked it, realizing that at some point he had started shaking.

"Holy _fucking_ shit." Joey's voice was barely a whisper.

Billy turned around, still clutching the doorknob. "Um, yeah."

Joey was sitting up, clinging to the sheets uncertainly. "He probably thought—"

"You fell asleep on my bed because you were too fucking lazy to climb the bunk, big deal," Billy said, letting go of the doorknob and crossing the room. He crawled back under the sheets beside Joey. "Don't worry about it. Trying to blame us for something we didn't do. Fucker. I say we get back at him."

Joey relaxed a little. "Might look suspicious if we strike too soon."

"Nah, I mean we should think about it," Billy murmured, stroking one hand down Joey's chest. God, his heart was _racing_.

Joey curled in against Billy, closing his eyes. "You're on."

Billy rubbed Joey's back until he fell asleep, wondering how much Parker had chosen to see.

* * *

"Rehearsal first thing in the morning, dickhead."

Billy looked up just in time to catch the basketball against his chest. "Is that an invitation to kick your ass?" he asked. If Snuffy were any stronger, it might've actually hurt.

"No shit, Snuffy," Joey said, knocking the ball out of Billy's hands and bouncing it back at Snuffy.

"Just making sure you didn't sleep during the read-through." Snuffy ducked the ball, which had been aimed at his head.

"We were right on time for that," Billy reminded him, snagging Joey for a high five.

"Yeah, so why don't you leave 'em alone and get your mind back on the game, huh?" Hank had retrieved the ball and stood dribbling, one hand on his hip.

"Excuse me, but the cast's subject to reminders twenty-four seven, as far as I'm concerned," Snuffy said pointedly, turning his attention to Hank. "You guys are playing like shit tonight anyway, in case you haven't noticed."

"Yeah, because these two haven't been around to balance out the Hankster," Ric said, jogging up behind Snuffy and thwapping him with a towel.

"So are we gonna play, or what?" Basketball wasn't Joey's favorite, but he didn't seem opposed to the idea, as much as he'd _looked_ like he just wanted to stay in bed. A few more seconds of that and Billy would've given in.

"All I want to know is, what's the plan _this_ time?" Phil asked, smirking, arms folded across his chest.

"Plan?" Joey's blank expression didn't last long. "Oh, you mean for—"

"Don't tell me you _didn't_ just spend the last hour and a half plotting—"

"We're working on it," Billy cut in. "It'll be good, I promise."

"I still want to help," Ric said, mopping at his forehead.

"If we need a third man, I'll remember that," Billy said, giving Joey a careful look.

"It's been a while since you two pulled anything," Snuffy said innocently.

 _Night of the play_ , Billy thought. _You rain on my parade, I'll rain on yours_.

Joey's expression was stuck somewhere between glaring at Snuffy and raising his eyebrows at Billy.

* * *

"Anderson?"

"Here," Robert said, raising his hand sharply.

"Good, good," Mr. Oger said, grinning absently. "The show certainly can't go on without our, ah, irate dad-in-residence. Carver, Erik?"

"Sir." Erik sat back in his chair, hands folded in his lap. Fucking pretentious.

"It's the accent," Billy muttered.

"Hey, I would feel a little smug if _I_ were British and had to act Shakespeare with a bunch of bumbling Americans."

"Snuffy, shut _up_ " Joey hissed, grabbing Snuffy's script and swatting his arm with it. " _You're_ a bumbling American."

Snuffy smirked and grabbed the script back. "At least I know the play."

"So do I, dickhead."

"Mr. Trotta, ah, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I'm trying to take roll," Mr. Oger said, wearing that pasted-on smile. "Oh, I forgot—Bradberry." He made a checkmark next to Snuffy's name, then looked up again, scanning the auditorium. "Graham and Giles?"

Charles (also British, Billy noted) and Hank said _here_ pretty much in unison, but Alex interrupted with a rather loud, "Um—"

"Oh, there you are, Mr. Burg! Sorry, sorry...can't very well get along ah, without, ah, our lovers..."

"I'm here, too," John insisted, waving his hand in the air.

"Thank you, Mr. Richmond. Demetrius and Lysander duly noted," Mr. Oger reassured him, running his pencil down the clipboard. "Might as well, ah, continue by character, since we have a decided pattern going. "We have Bottom," he said, looking right at Snuffy, who perked up innocently. "And Flute—" a glance at Hank "—so, ah, let's see, we need—"

"Snug and Snout at your service!" 

Mr. Oger almost dropped the clipboard. "Lewis and Johnston, very good. Where's Quince?"

"Mr. Page isn't here yet," Snuffy said matter-of-factly.

"Oh, the irony," Joey murmured under his breath.

Mr. Oger laughed right on cue. "So I've gathered. Do we have Philostrate?"

"Yeah," Phil said, raising his hand and letting it drop again. He sounded about as thrilled as he'd sounded at the read-through.

"Take heart, Mr. Donoghue! At least you don't need a highlighter! Helena and Hermia?"

Sophomores, both of them. Billy didn't know Ferguson from Davers, and he didn't really care. Same deal with the random fairies: they were all freshmen, and listening to Oger rattle their names off wasn't as interesting as watching Joey make absent sketches across a fresh page of his notebook. Stars, spiderwebs, human eyes that were pretty fucking realistic for the ten seconds he spent on them. Billy was about to lean over and suggest something when the guy playing starveling arrived with Murray Page on his heels, and Joey muttered something about "rude mechanicals" under his breath. Oh yeah, wasn't that what—

"Puck? Do we have Robin Goodfellow in our midst?"

"Josh is coming, sir," Murray huffed, slumping into an aisle seat as if he'd run the whole way.

 _I didn't need to know that,_ Joey wrote, then started tapping the notebook's wire binding with his eraser.

Billy tried to choke back his laughter, but it was too late. Mr. Oger looked up and tugged his glasses down a bit, looking right at Billy. "A word from our stage manager, perhaps?"

Billy rested his chin in his palm, glancing sidelong at Joey. "No, sir."

"Then, ah, perhaps our art director has something to say?"

Way to fucking introduce them, Jesus. Joey looked up as if startled—actually, he was, because an entire chorus of whistles and groans had struck up out of nowhere. "Nothing at the moment," Joey said, and for a second it was hard to believe he'd even been rattled. Hard gaze, cool tone. No wonder Snuffy kept pushing him to audition. Those eyes behind Titania's mask...

The auditorium doors opened and shut with a clatter, forcing most of them to turn around in their seats. Billy just stared straight ahead, glancing over at Joey briefly. Sketching again, no fucking recognition. McAllister darted down the aisle to their right, answering Snuffy's annoyed glare with that lame-ass grin of his.

"Sorry I'm late, sir." He dropped his bag next to the end seat parallel to Snuffy's in the next section over. 

"That's everybody," Mr. Oger said cheerfully, but he went stern soon enough. "Please, I'd appreciate it if you gentlemen, ah, made an effort to, ah, be on time from now on." He set the clipboard on the edge of the stage and hopped down from his perch, pretty agile for a balding, middle-aged guy starting to put on a bit of weight. "I want all of you to understand that if we work like crazy, we can get this blocked in the next three weeks. I hope you realize that opening night is, ah, just five weeks from _yesterday_ ," he continued, nodding energetically in response to a few shocked gasps. "No, gentlemen, you didn't mishear me. Check your calendars—it's March 30th already! That's why I need set design to—Mr. Trotta, ah, are you listening?—begin ASAP. Good. Let's not waste any time: if you're in Act I, Scene I, you're in the wings right now. Meanwhile, I need to, ah, speak with you two—yes, you, Mr. Tepper—right now." Mr. Oger glanced at Joey again and picked up his clipboard, ignoring a few muttered comments about whose bright idea it was to have the first rehearsal on a Saturday morning.

Snuffy clapped Joey on the shoulder and stood up. "He's probably decided to write in a fourth wedding."

Joey dropped his notebook on the floor, standing up instantly. "Not so fucking _loud_ —"

"Eat shit, Snuffy. C'mon, Joey, the Oger's waiting."

Joey shoved Snuffy out of the way, and Billy followed him into the aisle. "You're not in Scene I, asshole."

"Blow me," Snuffy mouthed, smiling sweetly.

It took Billy a couple of seconds to realize that McAllister was watching the whole thing, smirking. Not like the creep had heard everything, but like...well, like he knew something was up and wasn't gonna let them forget it. Billy let him off with a glare and pushed Joey up towards the stage before they had an honest to God disaster on their hands. McAllister wasn't somebody Billy wanted to see Joey start a fight with any time soon. Also, Snuffy was just begging to have his ass kicked.

Mr. Oger was waiting with his arms folded over his clipboard, wearing his usual blank smile. The guy never stayed angry for long. "Is there anything I might do to convince your friend Montoya to change his mind? We've still got plenty of, ah, space on stage crew."

"No," Joey said curtly. "I'm pretty sure there isn't. Anyway, about—"

"Mr. Tepper, did Mr. Bradberry make clear to you exactly what's expected of your position?"

Billy shrugged. "More or less. Why?" Hard to pay attention when Joey looked so peeved.

"Your primary responsibilities will begin third week," Mr. Oger said sternly. "I expect the actors to, ah, be memorized by then, and you'll be on book to, ah, call out any forgotten lines. That's one week only. After that, it's all tech and runs-through. You need to be on, ah, top of things with stage crew—what props are where for which scene, et cetera. In the wings at all times, tracking down folks if they're not around when they should be."

"So I don't have to be here for two weeks?" Billy bit his tongue, because the look Joey was giving him clearly meant that was the wrong thing to say.

Mr. Oger chuckled and sighed, but he gave Billy a stern look. "No, you don't have to be here for two weeks. Mr. Trotta, on the other hand, you need to, ah, begin as soon as possible. There'll be three primary backdrops. Any idea what those might be?"

"Palace, forest, wedding feast." Joey folded his arms like Oger was wasting his time. Classic.

"Yes, ah, very good, and actually, I was thinking that maybe a fourth—"

"Are we painting them by hand, or have you ordered stuff?" Joey asked. Oger wasn't known for letting people finish their sentences, and Joey wasn't known for being patient with him.

Mr. Oger blinked. "Only the canvases, so of course it'll be by—"

"I hope you only ordered three. That's all we'll have time to do."

For a few seconds, Mr. Oger hovered between vague horror and extremely obvious relief. "Yes, ah, only three. As I was saying, I _thought_ maybe we could...never mind. That'll do fine. All the more time for you to work in that, ah, stunning detail of yours."

Joey's expression changed even more quickly than Oger's. "You got it," he said, grinning. "What about 3-D pieces?"

"Actually, I've got those, ah, planned out and in with the blocking. All you'll have to do is paint."

Joey frowned, but only slightly. "Can I have copies of your diagrams and a list of what they are?"

While Mr. Oger blinked and went into another round of hasty instructions, Billy stuck his hands in his pockets and slipped over to the side door. If Oger was anything, he wasn't an idiot—just absent-minded and way the fuck too intelligent for his own good, and he lost people all the time. It was like this when Joey asked questions about a paper, too. Everyone else had to sit there and take it while Joey poked holes in everything, forcing Oger to tighten up his loose instructions till there wasn't any doubt left about what he wanted. Billy leaned against the wall and watched Joey take control of the conversation again with hardly a gesture. He'd probably make a good teacher himself. 

Billy waved at Joey over Mr. Oger's shoulder, pointing into the hallway. He waited till Joey fell silent and Oger followed up with something that sounded like general approval, then peered into the auditorium. Joey gave him a _wait a minute_ sign and went back to where they'd been sitting, bending down for a second. He stood up again, perplexed, then got down on his hands and knees. It was several moments till he stood up again, looking disquieted. He moved only when Oger gestured at him to either get out or sit down; Erik and Charles were already in their places. 

Joey dashed over to the door and hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder. Before Billy could ask what was wrong, he stepped into the hall, slamming the door behind him.

Billy grabbed Joey's wrist, mostly meaning to calm him. "Okay, what the hell was—"

"My notebook's gone," Joey said sharply, giving Billy an even harder look than he'd given Oger. He pulled his hand away and stalked up the hall.

 _Shit._ Billy was almost afraid to follow him.

* * *

Billy beat his pillow down and squinted at the window, trying to guess what time it was. Either Phil had gotten quieter about getting ready for church, or he had forgotten to set his alarm. Billy rolled over, squinting in the other direction. Phil's bedclothes were thrown down, spilling onto the floor. Definitely gone. Billy rolled over onto his back and closed his eyes, listening intently. Joey's breathing, light and even. Too tense for sleep, but not tense enough to be fully awake.

Billy patted the underside of the top bunk. "Hey, how long you been up?"

Joey's sheets rustled, but he didn't crawl down to the ladder. "Don't know. Since Phil left."

"How long ago was that?"

"Can't see the clock." Joey's voice was soft, indifferent.

Fuck, something wasn't right. He'd barely said a word at dinner last night. Billy bit his tongue, wondering if he shouldn't have let Joey keep him from questioning around about the notebook after all. _No, it'll turn up. Someone probably just picked it up by mistake. Don't make me look like a douchebag._ It hadn't turned up, and frankly, none of the guys there would be idiot enough _not_ to realize whose...oh, _fuck_.

"Billy?"

"Sorry, dozed off."

"Liar," Joey said, not whispering anymore.

Billy got out of bed, shivering. Joey didn't sit up when Billy reached the top of the ladder, but he did throw the covers down and roll over to one side. Billy stretched out beside him, tugging the covers back up. "What's that supposed to mean?" Joey flinched a little when Billy put an arm around him, but he snuggled against Billy's chest without much hesitation.

"You thought of something." Flat, almost accusing.

Billy let his breath out, exasperated. "Yes, I did. But it'll piss you off."

Joey laughed harshly. "I'm already pissed off."

Billy gritted his teeth. "McAllister has it."

"Probably." Joey sounded angrier than he'd sounded over his Dad's latest phonecall.

Billy stroked Joey's hair, trying for soothing. "Look on the bright side. My handwriting's so bad—"

"Mine's not," Joey hissed. "We're fucking toast."

Billy tightened his hold on Joey, which probably wasn't the best response to how frozen-up Joey was, but he didn't know what the fuck else to do. "We'll get it back," Billy said. "He only just got it yesterday. Maybe if—" Billy chewed his lip, _fuck_ "—you go to Parker, he could—"

Joey laughed even louder than before. "You're fucking nuts, man."

"It's not like you have any pranks written down in there!"

"Parker doesn't know that! I bet he'd just love the chance to check it out. It's not like we _haven't_ all but written fucking love letters in there!"

" _Joey_." Jesus, he scared Billy sometimes.

Joey took a deep breath and ducked his head against Billy's shoulder. "We'd get split up."

"Or worse," Billy said softly. "Saw a kid kicked out for 'inappropriate behavior' once, and I don't think it was the same kind of 'inappropriate' that they busted me for. His roommate got the better end of the deal—suspension. Not sure I care to know the logistics."

"Oh, that's just fucking great."

"Would you _stop_ it? We're not getting kicked out," Billy said firmly. "We'll get it back some other way. There's always breaking and entering."

"On a Sunday? Bet he sleeps in till all hours, I never see him in the dining hall before noon," Joey muttered. "Fucking loser."

"Maybe he doesn't have it," Billy said, not quite convincing himself.

"Yeah, right, and I don't have a portfolio due right about when the show goes up."

"Worry about the sets later," Billy said, brushing a kiss against Joey's cheek. "We've got bigger fish to fry."

Joey relaxed a little bit, nuzzling Billy's collarbone. "It's times like this I wish I didn't have morals."

Billy scooted back a bit, then rolled Joey onto his back. Joey's eyes always looked darker than usual in the early light, blinking long and slow. So fragile, so fierce. God, Billy didn't know how they survived. They were both so fucking reckless that it didn't make any sense. Why hadn't anyone noticed something? Why hadn't somebody ratted them out? Fucking _stupid_ thoughts, but Billy couldn't help it. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Joey's, felt Joey's hands come up to his shoulders instantly. Couldn't help it when he was blinded by all that he stood to lose. Billy pulled back a little, running his fingers through Joey's hair.

"It's times like this that I'm glad you do."

* * *

"I'll bet it was him," Ric said, bravely taking a bite of...um, couldn't exactly call that pot pie. Monday's special, ugh.

"Yeah," Phil agreed, energetically poking patterned holes in the crust of his own. "The fucker's so jealous of you that it doesn't surprise me he gets off on taking memorabilia."

Joey finished wiping his hands and threw the napkin at Phil. "Jealous? What the _fuck_."

"Don't be stupid," Snuffy cut in loudly, between flipping his pot pie upside down and smashing it. "You and Billy get away with all the _good_ pranks."

Billy raised an eyebrow, that was news. "McAllister the practical joker? Pft, color _me_ shocked."

Snuffy scooped up a forkful of the mess on his plate and smirked at Billy. "Remember that leak the other day?"

Billy set his fork down. "You're shitting me."

"Nope," Snuffy said with his mouth full.

"That's fucking gross, man," Hank snapped, giving Snuffy a shove in the shoulder. "Can I trade places with somebody?"

"No!"

Answer in stereo, as usual. That was good for a laugh, but it was definitely a tense one. Joey was sitting there radiating fucking death rays; none of their casual asking around what cast members they'd seen at dinner the night before had turned up anything. Billy hadn't gotten any sleep, mostly because he'd been lying there listening to Joey toss and turn, and he'd even heard Phil hiss from the other side of the room, _Would you just take care of him already?_ He hated the top bunk for anything more than messing around, he felt like if he drifted off, he'd fall and pull Joey with him. His eyes were probably as red as Joey's.

"There's nothing in there that should interest him," Joey said stiffly. "If he gets off on notes and shit, that's just lame."

" _You_ get off on notes and shit," Snuffy said, jabbing his fork authoritatively at Joey. 

Goddammit, that _I know everything_ look. Billy could've slapped him. "Just shut up, okay? So none of you have it, fine. We've got to get it back."

"Nobody else fessed up to anything?" Hank asked. "Nobody picked it up by accident?"

"My name's all over it, asshole," Joey muttered, not even pretending to eat.

"Chill out, man! I'm sorry."

"Good." Joey flattened his sad-looking piece of apple pie with a spoon, not looking up.

"We're trying to help," Phil said. "Relax."

Billy caught the sarcasm right away, glad that Joey wasn't paying enough attention to notice. Snuffy looked like he was ready to say something else regrettable, so Billy glared at him before it was too late. "It'll turn up before finals. And if it doesn't, we should have enough notes between the six of us to—"

Snuffy burst out laughing. "That's the funniest shit I ever heard, Billy. His notes make up at least _half_ of all our notes combined."

"Shut," Hank hissed, "the _fuck_ up." He elbowed Snuffy so hard that Snuffy's fork went flying across the floor.

" _Ow!_ Okay, fine, but you know it's the truth," Snuffy admitted peevishly, glaring at Hank.

Joey looked up for the first time in ages. "Too bad _you_ don't have a photographic memory."

"Too bad _I_ don't need one," Snuffy shot back. Smirking again, that fucker. Unless—

"Maybe Oger has it," Billy said finally, giving Joey a hopeful look. "He might've picked it up after rehearsal, if it slid down under the front rows."

Joey blinked. "Hadn't thought of that."

"Ask him right after lunch," Billy said. "As for after class, gentlemen, we're going to play Search Snuffy's Shit for Evidence."

"You are _such_ a dickhead!"

"Seems like you've been getting personal with McAllister. I mean, sucking up for the details of the leak—"

"Bite me," Snuffy scoffed. " _You're_ the one who wants the details."

"God, I hope Oger has it."

The table fell quiet at the sound of Joey's voice. He was looking down at his tray again, not even abusing the dessert anymore. There was a hell of a lot more to that notebook than just affectionate teasing, and Billy wondered why he hadn't guessed that before. Joey had written—hell, probably _drawn_ , something really fucking private in there. No way in hell would he be worrying this much if it were just one-liner winks and nudges. People probably read their friendship like one big tease-fest all the time. This was something fucking terrifying that not even a dipshit like McAllister could misread. This was _serious_.

"If he doesn't, then McAllister does, and we'll pound him," Hank said. "That simple."

Joey actually grinned. "Thanks, man.

"Snuffy?" Billy raised his eyebrows, tapping his fork on his tray impatiently.

"Fuck you. Can't even take a fucking—"

"Mr. Bradberry, if you don't watch your mouth, I'll watch it for you. Is there a problem?"

Shit, Parker was standing _right_ behind him. "No, sir," Billy said, tipping his head back. Parker looked funnier upside-down than he should. _Dammit_ , he was gonna start laughing. Billy bit his lip and looked straight ahead again.

"Of course not," Parker said dryly. "Eat your lunch, Billy. As for the rest of you, keep your voices _down_."

Joey rubbed his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut as Parker walked away. "Thanks, guys. Blew my chances of any help there."

"No," Hank said, grabbing Snuffy's wrist, " _he_ blew Mr. Bradberry's confession."

"I _don't_ have it," Snuffy protested, pulling his arm away.

"Yeah, we'll see about that," Billy said, tapping Joey on the shoulder before standing up with his tray. "Luckily, Hank never locks the door."

* * *

"Anything missing?" Billy asked, picking up a paintbrush.

Joey didn't answer till he'd flipped all the pages through to the end. "Doesn't look like it," he said, not sounding too reassured. "Who the fuck knows what he had the time to read?"

"Snuffy claims he caught McAllister backstage with it not too long after we left. Maybe he didn't see anything at all."

"Maybe not," Joey said pensively. He set the notebook down and leaned over to grab the paintbrush from Billy.

Billy scooted away, almost knocking over the can of paint. Joey lunged forward and caught his wrist, other hand splayed on the backdrop canvas for balance. He pried the brush out of Billy's fingers and tossed it into the paint.

"Stop fucking around."

It was hard not to grin with Joey's face so close. "I was gonna stir the paint, honest," Billy said.

Joey smirked. "Sure."

"Well, I _was_ ," Billy protested.

"Fucking asshole," Joey mumbled, the words lost against Billy's mouth.

Billy tugged Joey down into his lap, wrapping his arms around Joey's waist so Joey couldn't go anywhere. He didn't seem to be in any rush, though—slow, lingering kisses, deep enough to fog Billy's brain with possibilities. Art room, after hours, alone. The wary part of Billy that had been hovering around for the last couple of days pointed out that anybody could walk in looking for something, even if they weren't _likely_ to. Billy closed his eyes and slid one hand up to the nape of Joey's neck, pulling him in closer—oh, yeah, definitely worth it, Joey clutching at his shoulders with red-stained hands, totally ignoring the paintbrush which had probably sunk the whole way into—

The door opened so fast that neither of them had time to react. "Exactly what do you think you're doing?"

"None of your fucking business," Joey said, giving Snuffy a pretty level glare for as badly as he was shaking. 

"Aren't you supposed to be working on blocking?" Billy asked, tightening his arms around Joey. If Snuffy wanted to play dirty, then he was gonna suffer.

"Kind of hard to do when only two of you show up," Snuffy said, crossing the room to where they had a few tables pushed out of the way to make space on the floor. He hopped up on one of them, swinging his legs carelessly. "Being productive, I see."

"More than you," Joey pointed out. He relaxed a bit, didn't feel like he was about to jump out of Billy's lap anymore. "How'd you get it off of him, anyway?"

Snuffy shrugged. "Threatened to tell Parker I knew about the leak."

"I figured," Billy said. "Good to know blackmail works on the sucker."

"Might and it might not," Snuffy said, serious for once. "McAllister said if he ever needs it, he has enough shit on you two to last till graduation."

Joey tensed again. "What, the notebook?"

"Apparently," Snuffy said.

"Don't tell me you didn't look through it," Joey said furiously. "You fucking know what—"

"Actually, I _didn't_ , but now you're making me wish I had."

Joey closed his mouth on whatever comeback he was about to snap, startled.

"Thanks," Billy said. "Now, either help us, or get out of here."

Snuffy hopped down from the table and threw his hands up in the air. "Hey, look, if I ever have the urge to try a threesome, it _won't_ be with you guys. I'd feel left out."

"Fuck you," Joey said sharply.

Billy couldn't resist. "What, aren't things working out with Hank?" 

"He's a jealous dickhead," Snuffy muttered unexpectedly. "You saw him at lunch."

"Jealous about _what?_ " Joey asked, giving Snuffy one of the most confused looks Billy had ever seen.

Snuffy hopped up on the table again, shifting uncomfortably. "Charles Graham."

"You're _kidding_ me," Joey said, and burst into laughter.

"Oh, yeah, sure. Like Billy would be thrilled if it was _you_ all dressed up as a fairy queen, making love to me left and right."

Billy thought about that for a second. If Hank was starting to feel for Snuffy even a _fraction_ of what he felt for Joey, then yeah, he could probably see...

"Oger's blocking your scenes with Titania as explicit?" Joey asked. "Wow, that's weird for a high school."

"Oger _is_ weird," Snuffy said. "The guy dances around sex in class with all kinds of funny euphemisms, then isn't afraid to tell us that the test-run stage kisses just don't look convincing enough."

"Just kisses?" Joey asked. "I think Hank needs to get over himself."

"I think the rest of the semester's going to be torture," Snuffy said gloomily.

"Probably," Billy said. God, so much shit could go the wrong way. He was more glad than ever that Joey wasn't onstage. He was gonna crack as it was.

"I have homework," Snuffy said, sounding for all the world like they'd let him down. "See you later."

Joey waited until the door slammed shut to rest his head on Billy's shoulder. "God, I'm such a jerk to him sometimes."

"So? He's a jerk to you _more_ of the time."

Joey sat back and crawled out of Billy's lap, raking his hair back as he stared at the canvas. "Need to get to work," he said softly, sticking his left hand into the paint. He fished around till he found the brush, then pulled it out again, crimson to the wrist.

Billy glanced down at his shirt, which was as badly stained as Joey's. "I'll get another brush."

* * *

Billy finished drying his hands and tossed the towel towards the closet. "I've got it."

"Got what?" Phil asked, letting his English textbook drop to his chest.

"Invasion of personal space," Billy said, glancing across the room at Joey. He was half dangling off the lower bunk, pummeling Phil's soccer ball with the punching nun puppet that Snuffy had gotten him over the summer. Usually, it just perched on the bedpost and looked creepy.

"Sounds good to me," Joey said, looking up to meet Billy's eyes. _Same thing the fucker did to us, right?_

"Leave a cow in his office or something?" Phil guessed.

"Nope," Billy said, sitting down at Joey's desk. "Even more personal than that."

"You've never broken into his apartment before," Joey pointed out.

"No, but I've _been_ in there, and he has these weird tribal statues on his mantel. How do you think one would look on top of the flagpole?"

"Not like it'll be making a statement or anything," Phil said, picking his book up again. "The whole town knows we're a bunch of fucking savages anyway."

"Great, if you can figure out how to get it to stay there," Joey said, grinning a little.

Billy winked at him. "I'll work on it."

* * *

Joey looked up from his reading when Billy dropped his backpack at the foot of the bunk. "You've got mail."

Billy hopped up onto the edge of his mattress, clinging to the side of Joey's for purchase. "What?"

Joey put his magazine down and reached under his pillow, tugging out his notebook. "Found this slipped under the door," he said, pulling an ominously familiar orange slip out of the front pocket. He gave Billy a funny look, almost hurt. "What'd you do this time, and why'd you do it without me?"

"Nothing," Billy said, unfolding the paper with confusion. Parker's handwriting, red ink. It hurt his eyes. "Great, I have half an hour to get down there." Billy looked up helplessly. "Joey, I swear."

Joey frowned pensively. "Maybe he still thinks you were involved in the leak."

"That _asshole_. I swear to God, I'm gonna..."

Joey leaned over and kissed Billy's forehead. "So, you tell him the truth. Again."

"If that's what he even wants," Billy muttered. "Maybe he's found something else to blame me for."

"Maybe McAllister struck again," Joey said. "Hey, we have proof positive that the leak was him. Tell Parker to poke Snuffy. I'd love to see the look on his face."

Billy grinned in spite of himself. "Parker's or Snuffy's?"

"Snuffy's," Joey said, predatory. "Parker's. I don't care, both."

"Regardless," Billy said thoughtfully, tapping Joey on the shoulder with the summons, "I can use this to my advantage. God, he's such a dumbass."

"Parker or Snuffy?"

"Parker. At least Snuffy has a clue, but damn, Parker's just _asking_ for it. All these false accusations, shit. He's gotta realize my nerves aren't that thick."

Joey tugged on Billy's wrists, looking vaguely worried. "What are you gonna do?"

Billy hoisted himself up onto the mattress beside Joey, then curled around him. "Scout a way into his apartment."

"That's risky," Joey said, shoving his magazine out of the way. It slithered off the bed and onto the floor in a colorful flutter.

"How else am I supposed to get my hands on one of those statues?"

"I guess you're right," Joey sighed, resting his head on Billy's shoulder. "Hard part'll be getting it up the flagpole."

"And getting it to stay there," Billy said. "It's times like this I wish I knew some guys from MIT." He nuzzled Joey's cheek and closed his eyes. Studying with Joey had only gotten better since they'd gotten together, so maybe...

"I don't think it's possible to perch it on top," Joey said, sounding discouraged. "You'd need an engineering miracle and a ton of superglue. That's too much damage to the statue and the flagpole."

"Well, fuck," Billy muttered, kissing the corner of Joey's mouth. "Engineering miracle's what we need MIT for."

Joey made an impatient noise. "I don't know anybody."

"Okay, so, realistically, I don't care so much about how it looks," Billy admitted. "I just want to get it _up_ there."

Joey shifted closer, drowsy from cuddling. He lay quiet in Billy's arms for long moments, then finally said, "What is this, Wednesday?"

"Thursday."

"Jesus, time flies," Joey yawned. "Okay, here's what you do: figure out how to get into Parker's apartment after hours. While you're in that meeting, I'm gonna sneak down to the hardware store."

Billy protested, "Joey, I've _got_ —"

"Billy, I've seen your shit a hundred times," Joey said firmly. "You _don't_ have what it's gonna take to pull this off, trust me."

Billy rolled Joey over onto his back and kissed him. "Maybe I know somebody who's worthy of MIT after all."

"You're so full of it," Joey laughed, wrapping his arms around Billy's neck. "It's fucking common sense, I promise. Get out of here, or you'll be late."

Billy pouted. "Do I have to?"

"Yes," Phil said loudly, slamming the door as he came in.

"Ouch," Joey said, grinning up at Billy, a little pink in the cheeks. "Touché."

* * *

"Have a seat."

Billy sat down in the black armchair and watched Parker across the coffee table. Right over his shoulder, Billy could see the statues on the mantel. Two of 'em. Probably best to go for the smaller one; they were both pretty well sized. Billy's attention snapped back to Parker when he leaned over and whisked the form out of Billy's hand, holding it up in front of his face. "Sir?"

"I realize that you probably don't know what this is for," Parker said seriously, tossing the paper down on the table. "The fact of the matter is, you're not supposed to. I'm just looking for some information, all right?"

"Whatever it is, I'm sure you realize that I don't have it." Billy sat back and folded his arms. Wasn't _this_ gonna be fun.

"I can't be too sure of that," Parker said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Whoever pulled off that leak did some pretty sophisticated damage."

"You think I'm the only one in this school with access to a plumber's manual?"

"Don't get smart with me," Parker said. "I doubt that you are, but you're the most _likely_ option. I don't think even you can disagree with that, Mr. Tepper."

Quirk of a smile, right there at the corner of Parker's mouth. Billy tried not to grin; he'd first seen that look when Parker hauled him in over that excellent incident with the water balloons last summer. Most he'd ever gotten was probation. Now that he was innocent, would it be even worse?

Parker's expression hardened. "I don't appreciate your silence, Mr. Tepper. This is serious business. I don't necessarily think you're responsible, but anybody looking to—"

"Mr. Parker, can I ask you something?" Billy sat forward in his chair, hoping he looked serious enough. Time to play cards.

"Sure," Parker said. Guarded, but interested.

"If I give you a name, will you leave me the...will you leave me alone? I had nothing to do with it, I promise."

"I'll leave you alone as long as you don't get it into your head to top whoever-it-is has done," Parker said gravely. "Plumbing fees aren't cheap."

"Josh McAllister."

Parker looked so fucking confused that Billy wished Joey was there to draw it. "Are you serious?"

Billy shrugged. "That's what I heard," he said truthfully.

"And that's all?"

"I swear to God," Billy said, starting to stand up. "Look, can I go now?"

Parker looked like he couldn't process any of this. "I hope you're not joking."

Billy stood and glared, enough of this shit. "If you think—"

"I'm going to cut you off right there," Parker said peaceably, raising both hands in the air, "before you have the chance to say something you'll regret. All right, I believe you. It's just that this one's serious enough that I can't let it go."

"I understand that," Billy said, shoving his hands in his pockets. He'd never caused expensive damage; that was something of a matter of pride. Prankster's honor.

"Get out of here, Mr. Tepper," Parker said, rising. "I'm sure you're wanted elsewhere."

Billy had turned for the door, but that last bit was just... "And what if I am?"

Parker chuckled, shaking his head. "All the better. Keeps you out of trouble."

Billy rolled his eyes, catching a glimpse of some cobweb streaming from the air duct in the ceiling. "See you 'round." 

"Close the door behind you."

"Yes, si—" Billy glanced up at the ceiling again before stepping into the hall. _Holy shit_.

Parker gave him a stern look. "As much as I enjoy our little visits, Mr. Tepper, I have work to do."

Billy coughed, rubbing his throat. "I'm going!"

* * *

Joey knocked Billy down on the old mattress, catching Billy's mouth in a bruising kiss. "You're fucking _brilliant_."

"Hey, not so fast!" Billy laughed, turning his head to one side and gasping for breath. "You haven't even told me what's in that bag." Billy tried to sit up, reaching for the crumpled plastic that Joey had dropped on the dirty stone floor. Metal, he'd heard metal in there.

Joey rolled off of him and grabbed the bag, rummaging inside. He pulled out two small grayish pieces—hook and ring, the kind of thing you used to put up hanging flowerpots. He jingled them in his palm, then clutched them to his heart when Billy tried to touch. "You have a hand drill, right?"

Billy sat up beside him. "What do you think?"

"Okay, so we're good to go. Those statues are made of wood, right?" Joey asked, looking at him sideways.

"Holy shit."

Joey mimed drilling against his thigh, then twisted the ring part in the air above. "Piece of cake. Then you attach the hook to the line, hook through the ring, raise the flag, and bang. Dangles up there like a charm."

Billy leaned over and caught Joey around the shoulders, his turn for a kiss. "Who's fucking brilliant?"

Joey flushed and punched him in the arm. "Shut up. Only for you. What if Parker sues for damages?" He looked slightly worried.

"You can fill screw holes in with resin," Billy said. "Looks like it never happened. Hell of a lot better than busted pipes."

"You can't steal it till the night before the play at least," Joey said. "I'll go with you."

"No, too risky," Billy said. "Better for one of us to get caught than both."

"Better for me to get caught," Joey pointed out, slipping the pieces back in the bag. "Parker's been all over you."

"Not really," Billy said. "Just poking for info, except I couldn't give him more than a name. Besides, he thinks you've been a good influence on me." _And probably more, the fucker_.

"We'll do it together."

"Fine," Billy said, taking the bag away from Joey. "But we're still not in the clear. If we're gonna do this the night of the play, we're technically supposed to be backstage the whole time."

"I'm not," Joey said.

"They need more people on stage crew, remember?"

"What the fuck, Oger doesn't think I have my work cut out for me?"

"I just...I want you back there, y'know?" Billy nuzzled Joey's ear, licked it gently.

Joey shivered and twisted, face to face. "Fine."

"For our protection. If we're both in the play, Parker can't point at us," Billy reassured him.

"Then who the fuck is actually going to _do_ it?" Joey asked.

"We will, but it's all gonna come down to timing."

"And?" Joey prompted. "You've figured that out, too?"

"No," Billy admitted, setting the bag down beside the mattress and tugging Joey closer, "but we have a few weeks."

"Time flies," Joey murmured, resting his head on Billy's shoulder. "Too fast."

* * *

"That's, ah, 'Phibbus', Mr. Bradberry, not 'Phoebus'."

Snuffy dropped his script on the stage and swore under his breath.

"Let's start the scene over," Oger said encouragingly, like he hadn't heard Snuffy. He was camped in the front row, scribbling notes every once in a while. "Memorization is difficult, but you're all, ah, making an admirable effort."

Billy grinned into his hand and leaned over to whisper to Joey, who was sketching something that vaguely resembled forest. "Maybe I can't remember worth shit, but that was highly ironic, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Joey said, not bothering to look up. "Wait'll they get to Ninny's tomb."

Billy slapped the arm of his chair, _ha!_ "I knew there was something like that. Whatcha doing?"

"Have to start on the forest backdrop, and I keep changing my mind," Joey said, sounding discouraged. "Never real enough, never ethereal enough."

"Hard balance," Billy agreed. He wished he could brush Joey's hair out of his eyes.

"Mr. Tepper, if you, ah, insist upon being here two weeks early, please have some respect for our actors."

Joey spoke up unexpectedly. "He's helping me."

"Keep your voices down," Oger sighed, turning back to the stage. "Quince, from the top."

"Why not from the Bottom? He's the one that fucked up." From the stage, quiet, then a bunch of laughter.

"Gentlemen, you'll be staying for, ah, an extra hour if we can't get this scene off the ground."

Muttered apologies. Billy leaned over and watched Joey again, more intent on his eyes than on his pencil. Darkish, restless. He had his notebook back, why wasn't he sleeping?

Murray Page cleared his throat and ruffled his script, imitating a prop that he didn't have yet. "Is all our company here?"

"You were best to call them generally, man by man, according to the script," Snuffy said. Didn't even have to _try_ to sound self-important.

"'Scrip', Mr. Bradberry," Oger interjected. "Continue."

Murray looked like he was going to crack up. "Here is the scroll of every man's name, which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our interlude before the duke and the duchess, on his wedding-day at night."

"Wedding-day at night," Joey whispered.

Billy broke his reverie. "Huh?"

"Amazing, that's all."

"What is?" Billy asked, frowning.

"Words." Joey kept sketching, shading some high grass in the foreground.

"First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats on, then read the names of the actors, and so grow to a point," Snuffy said, louder than before. Billy looked up to find that Snuffy was looking right at them. Something smug in his eyes, maybe just getting too far into character.

Joey's eyes flicked up, then back down to the page. "Ignore him."

"Nah, I think I'm gonna watch," Billy whispered, refusing to break eye contact with Snuffy.

"Marry, our play is, The most lamentable comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisbe," Murray said.

Snuffy bit his lip, almost like he forgot his line, then responded, making a big show of tucking his script under his arm. "A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a merry. Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your actors by the scroll." He fixed on Billy again, no more than fixing on the audience to anyone else, then smiled innocuously. "Masters, spread yourselves."

"Fucking lame," Joey muttered, chewing on his eraser.

"Answer as I call you. Nick Bottom, the weaver."

"Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed," Snuffy said enthusiastically. He was actually doing a damn good job. Subtle.

"At least he knows it," Billy said under his breath.

Joey burst out laughing.

"Mr. Trotta?" Shit, Oger didn't sound amused. Didn't look it, either.

Joey gave him a straight face. "I can't help it, I know what's coming. It's a funny scene," he said helplessly.

Oger turned away. "Last warning. Quince?"

"You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus," Murray said obediently.

Snuffy's face lit up. "What is Pyramus? a lover, or a tyrant?"

"A lover, that kills himself most gallant for love." 

Snuffy stepped forward, addressing Billy—no, of course not, the audience. "That will ask some tears in the true performing of it: if I do it, let the audience look to their eyes; I will move storms, I will condole in some measure," he began, eyes narrowing. "To the rest: yet my chief humour is for a tyrant: I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split."

"What the fuck?" Joey stopped sketching and looked up.

"The raging rocks and shivering shocks shall break the locks of prison gates," Snuffy said, as mesmerized as he was mesmerizing. "And _Phibbus'_ car shall shine from far and make and mar the foolish Fates."

"Aw, hell," Billy muttered. "He wants in."

"No way," Joey said. "He'll fuck shit up. How does he even know we've come up with something?"

Billy turned his head and put a hand on Joey's shoulder, pressing their foreheads together. "I'm pretty sure we don't look like we're discussing set design, here."

"Jesus, _now_ we don't." Joey pulled away and put his pencil to the page again, irritated. "You didn't tell Parker that he's the one who gave you McAllister's name, right?"

"Of course not," Billy whispered. "Don't be such a—"

Oger turned around, actually stood up this time. "You have approximately five seconds to, ah, adjourn to the art room, Mr. Trotta."

Snuffy was smirking so hard Billy wanted to slap him.

Joey stood up and tucked his pencil behind his ear. "Fine with me."

Billy followed him out of the auditorium, not sure who to thank that they weren't working on the mechanicals scene that included Puck.

* * *

"I can't believe it," Billy muttered. "Exiled from our own production."

"No, we're not," Joey sighed, outlining a ghostly sketched branch in brown paint. "Just from the rest of tonight's rehearsal."

"Courtesy of Mr. Bradberry," Billy said. "What the fuck does he expect me to do, tell him he can undertake the suicide ventilation mission? His sneezing would echo through the entire school."

Joey bit his lip as he crawled onto the canvas, obviously trying not to smile. "You didn't tell me this was gonna involve the sewage system, too," he mused, painting a stretch of trunk up from the branch—shit, he hadn't even drawn it in first. "Maybe we should send him after all."

"Too risky," Billy said, ignoring the wisecrack. "I have to do this."

Joey stopped painting and sat back on his heels, turning to look at Billy. He looked…impish. Shoes off, jeans splattered, hair in his eyes, brush poised like a wand in his left hand. "So," he said slowly, "you do it. But I'm not gonna let you unless you think it through first. Last time I checked, you had no fucking idea—"

 _That's it._ Billy tackled Joey flat on the canvas, dangerously close to the wet paint. "I will," Billy said. "I promise. Just because this one's tricky doesn't mean…" Eyes. Dark, questioning, beautiful eyes. Joey could make him think twice about anything.

Joey's wrist flopped back over his shoulder, paintbrush falling softly onto the canvas. He didn't break eye contact, just looked unblinking at Billy. "I know," Joey murmured. "Just yanking your chain." He reached up and stroked Billy's cheek with paint-damp fingertips.

Billy couldn't find his breath. "God, it's good to see you smile."

"I just figured it out," Joey said. "April Fool's Day. Even you forgot about it."

"Well, shit." _Fuck, fuck, fuck_. It had been a whole week ago today. Just think of all the—

Joey grinned even wider.

"Fucking McAllister, I am gonna fucking _torch_ his ass…"

"Let it go," Joey said, skimming his fingers up to Billy's temple. "You pretty much told on him. That's revenge right there."

"Not enough for what he did to you, April Fool's joke or not," Billy said, covering Joey's hand with his own. "I don't care what he was aiming for, nothing is worth what he put you through."

Joey's smile vanished, eyes went somber. "Nothing is worth the risk I take carrying that thing around, either."

Billy bent down and kissed him, frowning. "Joey, what…"

"I can't show you," Joey murmured. "Yet."

The tension in Billy's stomach eased a bit. "I'm a bad influence on you."

"Oof," Joey gasped, pushing up underneath Billy, smile returning. "I'll say.

"Are you implying that I've gained weight?" Billy asked, leaning down for another kiss before rolling off of him.

Joey sat up and retrieved the paintbrush, running his fingers through his hair. "No, but I don't want to have to paint over too many brown streaks."

Billy propped his chin on his forearms, watching while Joey went back to painting in the tree's outline. "Looks like one of the ones on the quad."

Joey looked up, breaking into another full grin.

"Commentary on the way things are around this place, or just…painting what you know?"

"Bit of both," Joey said thoughtfully. "I mean, if anybody's Puck around here, it's you—crawling through air vents and spiriting shit up flagpoles—"

"Joey, I can _take_ a hint," Billy said, scratching at a rough spot on the canvas. "If you want me to plan it out, I'll just—"

"Right here, right now," Joey said emphatically.

Billy reached for his ankle and gave it a teasing yank. "On your precious backdrop? I had no _idea_ you were into—"

Joey pulled his foot away, looked up, and glared. "Talk."

"Fine, fine." Billy sat up and put both hands in the air. "Let's see. I, uh…I'll have to get the statue before curtain, but not too early in the day, because Parker might go back to change before the performance and notice it's gone."

"When classes get out for the day. No sooner, no later."

"Am I planning this, or are you?"

Joey stuck the paintbrush in his mouth and shrugged, casually smudging a bit of paint off the canvas with his thumb.

"Jesus Christ. Anyway, I get the statue and smuggle it backstage. There should be enough noise during the first few acts for us to drill—"

"Drill _before_ curtain-up. Someone backstage might hear—"

"Not if we do it in the costume room!"

"There's always somebody in there rummaging for shit at the last minute because they're unhappy with their gloves or boots or whatever."

Billy just stared at Joey, shaking his head. "You're way too worried about this."

"I," Joey said, looking up, almost annoyed, "am worried about your _ass_ , thank you very much."

Billy covered his eyes and squeezed his temples. _Right, right._ "Drill before, screw, whole nine yards. Where do I stash the damn thing until intermission?"

Joey looked up again, horrified. "You want to raise it during _intermission_? Billy, you're not fucking thinking—"

"Then _when_ am I gonna get away for ten fucking minutes and have no one notice I'm gone? I'm the fucking stage manager!" Billy raked his fingers through his hair and looked away, staring at the corner of the canvas. _Fuck, we fight like we're married._

Joey chewed on his lip for a second, then attacked the tree trunk again. "Act Five."

"Scene?"

"It only has one, dumbass. Have you been studying the script or not?"

Billy scratched his forehead. "I…"

Joey stopped painting and put the brush down, crawling over to Billy. "Look, this is why I'm here, okay? Listen, you do it during Pyramus and Thisby. That's why Act Five. Long, uninterrupted sequence. You won't have to sit your post the whole time."

Billy burst out laughing. "Oh, God. Snuffy will throw a shit-fit."

Joey reached back for the brush and tapped Billy on the nose with it. "Exactly."

* * *

"If you're going to use it for what I think you're going to use it for, I don't think so," Ric said, speeding up. They were almost to Ric's room.

Billy dashed to catch up with him. "Look, it's not like that—you'll get it back in one piece!"

"Yeah," Ric said dubiously. "From Parker at the end of the semester."

"It's not for a prank!" Billy insisted. Lying with his tongue between his teeth, but what could he do? Should've asked Joey to do this part. "I'm—I'm thinking about joining the track team next year. Gotta work on short-distance sprinting."

Ric stopped short, and Billy knocked into him. "Hey, _watch_ —are you serious?"

Billy folded his arms and gave Ric an irritated look. "I'm _considering_ it. How am I supposed to know if I don't practice?"

"Fine," Ric said, starting up again. "It'll take me a minute to find."

No wonder, Ric's room was a mess. Billy stood in the doorway while Ric rummaged under dirty clothes and a pile of soccer gear, swearing when his search of several pockets turned up nothing. Joey would know where to look, probably—he knew where everyone put everything, it seemed like. He'd been known to grab shit that didn't even belong to him, just to make sure it wouldn't get left behind. And he never, _ever_ forgot his own.

"Ha!" Ric said triumphantly, standing up. The stopwatch dangled from his fingers.

"Great," Billy said, reaching. "Give it here."

"You swear I'm going to get it back?"

"On my honor," Billy said gravely.

Ric laughed and put the stopwatch around Billy's neck. "Almost good enough, but not quite. Next time, swear on Joey's."

"TGIF," Billy said under his breath, slamming Ric's door behind him.

* * *

"Quiet in here," Joey said, his voice echoing through the auditorium. 

It was so dark that they almost couldn't see, eerie and still. Hard to believe it had been bustling with life just a couple hours before—Snuffy was completely off-book now, and even in its first solid run-through, Pyramus and Thisby was a hoot. Billy nodded absently, following Joey down the aisle. Would they even be able to tell what was what in the wings?

Joey reached into his back pocket, tugging out a tiny hunting flashlight. Where had that come from? He flashed it around so they could see the foot of the stage. "Works better than I thought," he said with satisfaction. He started up the right-hand staircase, motioning for Billy to follow him.

"Extra investment at the hardware store?"

"Yeah," Joey said. "For emergencies only, got that? I don't want it getting lost."

"Won't borrow without asking," Billy sighed, following Joey through the curtains, wrinkling his nose at a tickle of dust from the heavy velvet. Maybe he wouldn't laugh so hard at Snuffy next time he had a sneezing fit. "Exactly where are we going?"

Joey stopped abruptly, swinging around to shine the flashlight in Billy's face. "Exactly where is your post?"

Billy shrugged, squinting. "How'm I supposed to know?"

"You had better start communicating with Oger." Joey lowered the flashlight in disgust, sweeping it across the ropes and pulleys behind them.

"Relax! I'm not official till next week," Billy said. He walked over to one of the ropes and gave it a hard tug. One of the curtains squeaked and lurched, making Joey jump.

"Yeah, well, you're doing a good impression of playing dumb. It's the twelfth already." Joey shivered, rubbing his arms. "Chilly back here."

"When's opening night?"

"The twenty-sixth."

Damn, in exactly two weeks. Joey was right; time had wings and a fucking jet engine. He wouldn't have believed McAllister was off book if he hadn't seen it himself. No more trouble from him, anyway, especially not after the whispers had gotten around that Parker had called him in for a little heart-to-heart. It sure beat being the one whispered _about_ —it made Joey irritable if they stayed in the spotlight for too long, except they hadn't really done enough lately to be there. The sketchbook thing nagged at Billy worse than before. Joey hardly ever carried it around anymore, and he'd taken to hiding it. Billy knew better than to go looking.

"Great, let's just start from here," Joey said with a sigh. He walked in the general direction of stage left, clicking the flashlight off. He vanished from a silhouette into nothingness until there was a creak and a moving, door-shaped sliver of gray light. "I'll hold this open," Joey called to him. Billy heard a couple of soft beeps. Joey was fiddling with the stopwatch already.

Billy walked toward him, briefly getting the weird sensation that the distance would keep stretching before him if he ran. "Joey, are you sure—" 

"Yes," Joey said, right there beside him. He let the door swing shut and knocked Billy up against the wall, jarring full-body kiss in the dark. "If you do this right..."

"Right being, what, within the time limit? Without someone stopping me?" He wrapped his arms around Joey, holding him tight. Friday fucking night and _what_ were they doing?

"Both," Joey said, pulling away and turning to yank the door open again. "I'm giving you ten minutes."

"Assuming nothing will go wrong at the flagpole?"

"Nothing will," Joey reassured him, re-setting the stopwatch. "Get ready."

Billy stood in the doorway and bent over, letting his fingertips brush his sneakers. Bounced back on his heels, got the feel of the ancient flooring beneath his soles. Slippery, not good. He might fall and wipe out, break something. This was probably more dangerous than tackling the ventilation.

"Three...two..."

"Hey, Joey?"

"What?—Fuck, cut that out, now I have to—"

"You owe me."

Joey looked up from the stopwatch and blinked. "What?"

"If I do this right..." Billy twisted his hand in a helpful circular gesture.

Joey let his breath out in an exasperated huff. "Oh, that. You can lock Phil out for the night and I'll try not to feel guilty about it."

"Hey, for that price, we can run this as many times as you want."

" _Go_."

"The fuck—"

Billy lurched into the hall and broke into a run. Joey had shoved him, but that barely registered. The bowels of Fisher Hall were a fucking maze; he had to remember what hall was what— _fuck!_ He skidded and slammed into the wall, turning around. Wrong way. Take this long hall to the very end, jump down that small staircase—oh, yeah, wasn't that the auxiliary gymnasium? He could cut through there as long as—no, shit. That was an emergency exit. _Shit!_

Joey was sitting with his back up against the door when Billy returned, nervously tapping the stopwatch. He must've heard Billy coming, as loud as Billy was panting. He scrambled to his feet and ran down the hall, meeting Billy halfway. "Twelve minutes," he said, biting his lip. "That's not bad, but..."

"But we can't count on the blocking, I know, I know," Billy said, doubling over, hands on his knees. "Give me a minute."

Joey pulled him up, hands on his shoulders. "It's okay. I didn't—I shouldn't have—"

Billy just looked at him for a second, still breathing like the air was being crushed from his lungs instead of rushing into them. "Needed to. I know the way now."

"You didn't know the way?" Joey asked incredulously.

"Nope," Billy admitted. "Couldn't remember. We don't hang out down here much, remember?"

"Yeah," Joey said, cracking a smile.

Billy couldn't take it. He took the stopwatch out of Joey's hand and tucked into his pocket. "That's what took me so long, y'know."

"Gimme that," Joey protested, hand flying to Billy's pocket. "We need—"

"Tomorrow, Joey," Billy said softly, catching Joey's hand. He brought it up to his mouth and kissed it. "There's time. Joey, trust me."

Joey brushed his thumb across Billy's lips. "Just once more," he said. " _Because_ I trust you."

 _God—I want to kiss you here and never stop, I want to drive out the dark._ Billy nodded, turned, and ran.

* * *

"What's it say?" Joey asked, rolling over in a rustle of sheets. He stretched out on Billy's bed and twisted his fingers in the pillowcase.

"None of your business," Billy said, rummaging in Joey's desk drawer for some tape. "It'll get the job done."

"Fuckhead."

"Love you, too." On the way to the door, Billy folded the tape over and stuck it to the back of the note. He hoped to hell no one else would pick it up. _One-night transfer to Ric's. Hope you don't mind. Make him cough up some more ghost stories. I owe you._ Like Phil actually gave a shit. He and Ric had been getting along so well since New Orleans that there'd soon be jokes about them just like there were jokes about Tepper and Trotta. Besides, Ric didn't care who slept or did what on his floor, let alone what he put there. Billy stuck the note above the knob before pulling the door shut again. He locked it casually, glancing over at Joey.

Joey rolled over on his side, blinking like he was sleepy. "Time's it?"

"Don't give me that," Billy said, crossing over to the bunk. "Not even nine."

Joey curled in on himself, hiding his face in the pillow so Billy wouldn't see him grin. "Maybe I've had a long day."

"Maybe you've had too much _Midsummer_ on the brain. Move the hell over."

Joey rolled over to face the wall, precariously close to the edge of the mattress. "You ask so nicely."

Instead of answering, Billy peeled out of his t-shirt and sat down on the edge of the bed, deliberately bouncing. He grinned when Joey hissed and took hold of the sheets, shook like he was trying not to laugh. Billy grabbed Joey and rolled him over, sprawling half on top of him. Joey wrestled with him for a second, then gave up—legs tangled with Billy's, nose tucked into the curve of Billy's neck. Billy closed his eyes.

"You're in a fucking silly mood, you know that?"

Joey shrugged and bit Billy's collarbone. "So?"

"Mm," Billy said. "Dunno, just asking." 

"You want anything?" Joey whispered. Brush of his lips, no teeth this time.

 _What do you think?_ Billy slid his hand helpfully up Joey's t-shirt. Slowly, though—Joey was more than warm tonight, skin hot as fever. Billy kissed his cheek.

"What a gentleman." Joey kissed him back, quick peck on the lips, and disentangled himself. Billy was sure he did this kind of thing on purpose, turning his back while he undressed without so much as a backward glance. He always shivered like he could feel Billy's eyes, like that meant as much as any touch.

Billy reached out and ran his fingers down Joey's side, resting them gently on his hip. "You feel like you're burning up or something."

"Heater's set on Hell again, courtesy of Phil," Joey sighed, dropping his shirt on the floor. He scooted back onto the bed and curled up beside Billy again. His finger drifted from Billy's jaw down to Billy's stomach, resting there thoughtfully before Joey's palm covered the same spot.

"Could go turn it down," Billy offered, though he had no intention of moving.

"Nah," Joey said, sliding his hand up and over Billy's hip, around to the small of his back. "We'll be wishing we'd left it."

Billy shivered and clutched him in closer. "Joey."

Sometimes, that was all it took—the right gesture, the right word. Joey twisted and locked one leg around Billy's, clinging like one of those wild vines on his Mom's lame-ass trellis in the summer. Only this wasn't lame, this was Joey kissing him till he couldn't breathe and pulling him under fast. Billy moaned and rolled them over, pinning Joey beneath him. _Anything? Fuck, you're fire, earth, water. Everything._

"You okay?" Joey whispered, breath hot against Billy's cheek. Moving, moving, oh _God_ he felt good.

Billy laughed, kissing Joey's neck until Joey thrashed underneath him and laughed, too. "What do…what do you think, huh?"

"Think you're—Billy, _stoppit_ —fucking weird." Joey slid his hands down and snapped the elastic of Billy's boxers. Hard.

Billy stopped long enough to reach back and grab Joey's hand. "Ow! Hey—"

Joey made a face at him, squirming. "Unless you wanna do the laundry—"

"I thought you liked this," Billy teased, dropping Joey's hand and bending down for another kiss.

Joey's hand came up to his cheek, holding him still. "I do," he insisted, face all flushed. "But—"

"Yeah, yeah, naked. If you had your way, I wouldn't wear clothes at all," Billy grumbled, rolling off of Joey with a grimace. No more interruptions after this. Boxers on floor— _Joey's_ boxers on floor—oh, yeah. Much better. Billy sat and looked at Joey for a couple seconds, trying not to smile. He still looked vulnerable like that sometimes.

"Cat got your tongue?" Not defensive, that voice. Playful and sure.

Billy shook his head and reached for Joey's hand, tugging. "Hey, get— _oh_ god, mmm. Joey." Billy toppled back against the pillow, lap and arms full.

Joey wiggled until they were tangled up again, nestling into Billy with a contented sigh. "Mmhm."

" _You_ want anything?"

Joey pushed his hips against Billy's, tilting his head almost thoughtfully. "Maybe."

"Jerk." Billy pressed up to meet him, loving the way Joey's eyes widened. The tease was always worth it.

"If you're gonna start that again—"

Billy wound his arms tight around Joey's middle. "Nobody's gonna start _anything_ unless—"

Joey kissed him full on the mouth and it was over, no more thinking. Billy could feel the tremors running through Joey, through his arm braced tight against Billy's hip, palm flat against the mattress. So fierce like this, so determined—Joey muffled his moans against Billy's mouth with every shaking thrust that passed back and forth between them, till it just couldn't hold. Right there, _right_ there—Billy caught Joey at the edge and held him, lost in that last fragile shout. Billy closed his eyes on the sound, jerking up helplessly. Did Joey know how it was to hear him come, did he have any idea?

"Billy." Dazed murmur, Joey uncurling and tensing in a sweat-sticky shiver.

"Almost," Billy panted. "Oh, God. Joey." _Don't stop please don't—_

Joey kissed his ear, breathing hard, still moving. "You looked—so fucking hot, I couldn't help—"

" _Joey!_ "

Joey wrapped around him, warm, secure. His breath tickled Billy's forehead and eyelids. Billy opened them and blinked, waiting for the image to clear. Joey poked Billy's cheek lightly, always ready with that patient smile of his. "Hey," he murmured.

Billy closed his eyes again, making a blind grab for Joey's finger. "Hey yourself."

Joey let him grab it, then snared Billy's fingers in with his own. He kissed Billy's hand.

Billy tugged Joey back down. Soft kiss against his mouth, more of a brush, lingering there as Joey liked to do, just breathing. "Air," Billy said feebly, tickling Joey's side.

"Shut up," Joey muttered, nuzzling the curve of Billy's neck before resting his head there. "Love you."

 _Everything, Joey,_ Billy thought, and let himself drift to sleep.

* * *

Billy let go of the rope, took a step back, and stared.

Joey lowered the bottom of the backdrop gently onto the stage, then brushed his hands off. He stepped back and gave it a once-over, frowning. "Something's off. Maybe—"

"Maybe _shit_ ," Billy said under his breath. He shook his head, glancing back and forth between the backdrop and Joey. He'd never been particularly jealous of Joey's artistic talent, but hey, it was never too late to start. _Jesus_ , what a good job.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Joey said, giving him a hard look.

"It means nothing is off," Billy said lamely, crossing over to where Joey stood. "It means I can't find words for how fucking great it looks because I'm not that articulate."

Joey's consternation melted into a smile. "Shut up."

"What, you think I'm kidding? I'm lucky if I can paint a blade of grass as well as you can."

"Liar," Joey said, dropping into a crouch. "See this here? All you. I distinctly remember that you—"

"It's water, Joey," Billy said. "Not rocket science."

Joey stood up again, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You make it _look_ like rocket science. So there."

Billy fought the urge to grab Joey, or kiss him, or something equally impulsive and stupid. There were others in the auditorium—guys sprawled in the aisles working on their homework, Snuffy talking to Charles about their scene, Oger asking if somebody had seen so-and-so and why weren't they there, it was already the halfway point? Billy rubbed his arm, grinning at Joey instead. "I'm gonna hit the vending machines. You want a Coke or something?"

Joey grimaced and started for the stairs. "Only if it's in a glass bottle."

"Snob," Billy said, following him.

Snuffy looked a little bit startled when they loomed over him, tapping his fingers nervously on the arm-rest of his auditorium chair. "Can I help you?"

Charles looked up, acknowledging them with one of his curt, polite, oh-so-British nods.

"Not anymore," Joey said, starting up the aisle again. 

"Thought you might want something from the machines, that's all," Billy added, not bothering to look back over his shoulder.

"Assholes," Snuffy muttered under his breath, then started talking to Charles again. Billy heard the words _fed-up_ and _ridiculous_.

"Hank needs to cut it out," Joey said once they were in the hallway, auditorium doors swinging behind them.

"You know he's not gonna," Billy said grimly, allowing himself to reach over and take Joey's hand. He wasn't made of stone, for fuck's sake. 

Joey twined their fingers cautiously, eyes straight ahead as they walked. "It's just…"

"Just what?"

"I don't think Snuffy's as serious as Hank would like him to be."

Billy nodded, turning the thought over a few times. "That's kind of a problem."

"I think Snuffy has a thing for Charles," Joey hissed under his breath.

Billy blinked. "Oh. But how do you— _oh_."

Joey tugged on Billy's arm, leading them around the corner. "Have you seen Hank all rehearsal, I mean aside from when he's been onstage?"

Billy let go of Joey's hand, stopping to fish some change out of his pocket. "Well, no—"

"Yeah," Joey said, folding his arms across his chest, leaning against the cinderblock wall. "They're avoiding each other."

"Kind of hard to do when you're roommates," Billy observed, fishing sixty cents out of the mess in his hand. _Dammit_. Short a nickel. "Sorry, no Coke."

"I have a dime and some pennies," Joey offered.

"Hand 'em over."

"No." Smirk in Joey's voice, what was _that_ about?

Billy looked up, making a helpless gesture. "What, you're not thirsty anymore?"

"Your idea in the first place," Joey reminded him, still smirking.

Billy pocketed the change. "You're a pain in the ass, you know tha—"

"Come and get it." Joey patted his back pocket invitingly.

"As I was saying, a pain in the…"

Joey took the opportunity to pin Billy up against the wall, which was really good for some parts of him, but not so good for the part of him that just wanted a goddamn Coke. He gave Joey's ass a hard squeeze, then pulled the coins out of his pocket. Billy kissed the side of his neck before shoving Joey's arm out of the way so he could get to the machines. "What're you on today, anyway?" Billy asked, slotting the coins into the soda machine.

"None of your business," Joey said. "At least I'm sharing."

"Not enough," Billy muttered, punching the Coke button.

By the time they got back, things had started back up again. Snuffy was in the middle of the scene where Bottom made his triumphant return; the rest of the mechanicals looked appropriately (and rather tiredly) happy to see him. All of them except Hank, anyway.

Joey slid quietly into the seat beside Billy, cradling the Coke in both hands. "They're goners," he whispered. "Hank just—"

"Mr. Giles," Oger called from the second row, "you missed a line."

"Ouch." Billy tugged the soda away from Joey and took a sip.

"Sorry, sir," Hank said.

"Again," Oger said. "At least the, ah, trees are in character."

Billy reached over and squeezed Joey's knee. "Told you."

Joey swatted his hand away and grabbed the Coke. "It's not funny. I'm gonna kick Snuffy's ass. You don't _do_ that to somebody."

"Correction: _Snuffy_ does that to somebody."

"It's still not right," Joey said stubbornly, holding onto the can so tightly it dented.

"No, it's not," Billy sighed, leaning on their shared arm-rest. _But, as usual, you are_.

* * *

"At least the trees are in character," Snuffy parroted in the whiniest voice Billy had ever heard. "Jesus _fucking_ Christ, I can't believe it, he was gonna make us run that _fucking scene_ another—"

"Shut up!" Joey and Phil said in unison. Ric had his hand over his mouth, trying not to laugh. Hank was busy studying his hand. 

"Would you just play already?" Billy threw a piece of popcorn at Snuffy. "This is Go Fish, not Let's Bitch."

"Easy for you to say," Snuffy said, shifting the order of cards in his hand before snatching one from the pile in the center of the circle. "You're not losing your voice because you had to say your lines so goddamn many—"

"I quit," Hank said abruptly, tossing his cards down on the pile. "Y'all can just sit here and listen, but me, I've had enough of this shit. Good night."

Billy watched Hank get up and walk over to the bunk—it really _wasn't_ right, something so hurt in that proud stride of his that even Billy couldn't laugh it off. He put his own cards down on top of the pile and sat back, fixing Joey with an even look. Joey nodded at him, carelessly dropping his own cards and reaching over to snag Snuffy's arm.

"Upstairs," Joey said, yanking Snuffy to his feet.

Snuffy flailed, his cards flying. "What the fuck—"

Phil looked vaguely worried. "I guess, uh, we'll just—"

"Keep playing," Ric said, eyes fixed on the floor. "That makes it my turn, right?"

"Dream on!"

Billy stood up and grabbed Snuffy's other arm, helping Joey haul him to his feet. "Don't think we won't drag you."

Snuffy shook them both off roughly, smoothing his rumpled sleeves. "Okay, okay. I can take a hint." He was out the door well before either of them.

"C'mon," Joey sighed, holding the door for Billy.

When they got to their room, Snuffy was sitting on the radiator, glaring them down head-on. He stood up, hands on hips, and pointed, about to say something. "If you think—"

"I don't think, I know," Joey said, walking over to his desk. He sat down and opened a drawer, started rummaging through his stuff like Snuffy wasn't even worth wasting the eye contact. "You're treating Hank like shit."

"He's a jealous dickhead," Snuffy said hotly. "C'mon, Billy. You mean you haven't noticed?"

Billy sat down on the bunk and shrugged. "Depends on what I've noticed."

Snuffy was fuming. "You _assholes_."

Joey found what he was looking for—a CD, but Billy couldn't tell what album—and set it on the edge of his desk. He swiveled his chair around and looked at Snuffy, something odd about his dark eyes, even more serious than usual. "No, Snuffy. You're the asshole."

"Since when are you any great buddy of Hank's, huh?" Snuffy sneered.

Billy didn't have time to react. In five seconds flat, Joey was at Snuffy's throat—or, rather, at his arm, had it twisted behind Snuffy's back so hard Snuffy was close to screaming. Joey was breathing hard, eyes flashing. Billy stood up, ready.

Joey leaned close to Snuffy's ear. "Since when are you _not?_ "

"Ow—okay, okay— _Jesus_ —he doesn't deserve—" Snuffy clawed at Joey with his free hand, trying to get loose. Last time they fought and managed to get at each other, Joey had left him with a bloody nose.

"He doesn't deserve _you_ ," Joey said harshly, letting go of Snuffy with a shove. He glanced at Billy and let his hands drop to his sides, wildness replaced by fear.

Billy helped Snuffy to stand, then gave him a light shake. "Think about it, Snuffy."

"You're what he wants," Joey said, somewhat out of breath. "And you don't deserve him, but I mean that in a completely different—"

"Joey, that's enough," Billy said. "Get out of here and think about it, okay?"

Snuffy stood there rubbing his arm, eyes fixed on Joey like he couldn't decide which slur to toss. Billy took a step between them, tilting his head at the door. "Okay?"

"Yeah, whatever," Snuffy mumbled, turning on his heel so fast that Joey's mumbled apology was lost under the slamming of the door.

Billy turned around and looked at Joey, hesitating. There were no words for this when it happened, when something Joey shoved way too far out of sight every moment of every day burst free and drove him to do things that usually resulted in a bloodstained scuffle.

"I'm sorry," Joey said again, to Billy this time. "I don't know what—"

 _I do_ , Billy thought, and rather than say anything, he just grabbed Joey and held him.

* * *

The rest of the week was unpleasant, but at least it was quiet. Tuesday and Wednesday rolled by without Joey and Snuffy speaking so much as a word to each other, and Billy kept his silence when Phil tried asking him what the fuck was going on. He couldn't bring himself to say anything, not least because Joey would be hurt if he did. Billy knew that he was part of Joey now in ways he hadn't bargained for, and he had to take that in stride, take it right alongside everything else. As long as he could keep Joey from somehow hurting himself, things would be okay. That worried him more than any number of black eyes or bloody noses that Joey might give somebody else.

"You guys look dead," Ric said at lunch on Thursday.

"Late run-throughs," Snuffy said thinly, giving him a pretty blatant go-fuck-yourself look.

Ric put both hands in the air. "Jesus. Just trying to lighten things up."

"Your technique is lacking," Joey said. He didn't look like he had any intention of eating his pizza.

Billy bit his tongue and reached over to run his fingers down Joey's spine, quick enough no one would comment or be a smartass about it. "You gonna come see us on opening night?"

"Where the hell else would I be? Staring at the paint on my ceiling?"

"Just checking."

Phil was paying too much attention to his salad. "Better be there, asshole."

"Like I'm that much of a jerk?" Ric asked.

Billy shook his head and took a bite of his pizza. Hank wasn't there, which meant Snuffy wasn't acting out or trying to impress anybody, and it didn't feel right. Joey was busy using his butterknife to conduct something that Billy couldn't hear, and Phil and Ric were bantering about something totally unrelated to the play. Fucking wrong, that's how it felt. Billy wanted to throw the table over or something, anything to wake them the hell up. _We have a show tomorrow night, you morons, and contrary to popular belief, the stage manager can't hold everything together all by his goddamn self!_

"Billy?"

"Huh? Sorry."

Joey was frowning at him, poking the knife into his pizza. "I know what you're thinking."

Billy shrugged. "Hell in a handbasket," he said under his breath. "Isn't that what they call this?"

"Sometimes," Joey said, smiling for the first time since Monday. "Don't worry about it. Night before. Things always shape up—"

"Touching thought, but I don't think so," Snuffy said, standing up. He took his tray and left.

Joey rubbed his forehead, hiding his eyes behind his hand. "We've _gotta_ do something."

"We already tried," Billy said tentatively. He was glad Ric and Phil weren't paying any attention to them.

Joey dropped his hand in his lap, fixing Billy with a pensive look. "Didn't work."

 _Don't bother to blame yourself now._ "What about talking to Hank?"

"Ha, that's funny, Billy. Classic."

"What the hell _else_ are we supposed to do?" Billy asked, exasperated. "Joey, I don't think—"

"Are you guys done yet?" Phil asked pointedly.

They both stared at him. " _No_."

Phil shrugged and rolled his eyes. "Sorry. Just that, you know, Ric has been known to speak Hank's language on occasion."

"Oh, yeah, sure, what's that? Jock talk?" Joey muttered.

"I hope somebody says 'Macbeth' tomorrow night," Ric said flatly.

"Hey!" Phil protested.

"Nothing personal."

"Would you guys stop it?" Billy stood up, leaving his tray where it sat. "Somebody tell me where the fuck he is already. _I'll_ talk to him."

Joey glanced up, eyes almost pleading.

"Nobody's coming with me," Billy said to the table.

Ric tipped his chair back, balancing like a pro. "Hank's on the track."

Billy turned and left, refusing to let himself feel sorry.

* * *

"The trouble is," Hank said, panting, palms braced against his thighs, "I don't think it'll make any goddamn difference."

"It'll make a world of difference," Billy said, leaning on the fence. "For you _and_ the show." 

"Act like I don't give a damn?" Hank stood up, shaking his head, shivering with sweat. "Billy, forget it. You don't wanna know, okay? Biggest fucking mistake I ever made."

"Actually, I don't think so," Billy said carefully, knowing this was shaky ground. "You hit him over the head like he's never been hit over the head in his life. You made him open his fucking eyes."

"Yeah, well, he's squinting again," Hank said, staring out across the track. "Has been for quite a while."

"You mean ever since the show started."

"Like I said, quite a while." Hank shook his head and snagged his towel off the fence, then mopped his forehead. "Look, Billy, I know this show's partly your responsibility and all, but bad blood is bad blood, and I don't care whether I'm onstage or off, Snuffy is _shit_ right now, do you understand me? Shit."

"Yeah, I do," Billy said quietly. "If Joey ever did something like that, I think..."

Hank laughed unexpectedly. "That's the worst comparison I ever heard."

"Why? Seriously, cheating is—"

"You cheat all the time, Billy."

Billy's stomach clenched, anger at the unexpected blow. "I don't cheat like _that_ ," he said darkly.

"Snuffy does. End of story." Hank slung the towel across his shoulders and started for the gate. Billy had to sprint to keep up.

"Wait!"

Hank stopped, staring at him. "Why the fuck do you care so much?"

Billy felt like screaming. "Because it's you and Snuffy. Because it's all of us."

"I don't buy it," Hank said, making an apologetic gesture. "I'm sorry, but—"

"Because Joey does," Billy said quietly. He held out his hand, last-ditch.

Hank just stood there for a minute, then stepped up to the fence. Hands on hips, he shook his head and breathed out like it was the craziest shit he'd ever heard, and who knew, maybe it was. Maybe Billy Tepper running around begging like an idiot all because Joey Trotta had him wrapped around his little finger was something that was never supposed to happen, but too late, it already had, and that meant logic was dead and the end of life as they knew—

"That's love, man," Hank said, gripping Billy's hand and giving it a hard shake. "That's _love_."

* * *

Billy was sure that Joey's art class had never run over this long before. In fact, he was beginning to suspect that maybe the Bard himself had hijacked their everyday lives and begun to write things to suit his own dramatic, sadistic purposes. Or maybe Joey was doing this on purpose. Hell. Since lunch yesterday, he'd been quiet, just shy of ignoring Billy as energetically as he was ignoring Snuffy. Billy had even climbed up to the top bunk the night before, after he was sure Phil was asleep, but Joey had done little more than sigh in response to Billy's kiss. Come to think of it, he preferred blaming Shakespeare.

Billy knocked on the window again. "I have to go," he mouthed, "in ten minutes."

Joey glanced up from his painting casually, then flashed Billy _five_ with his right hand.

Billy let his forehead fall against the glass, hissing in frustration. "Get the fuck out here," he said out loud.

Joey stopped painting and stared at his canvas for an interminable moment, then walked his paintbrush over to the sink.

"Thank you," Billy sighed.

It took Joey a few more minutes to wash his hands and get rid of his smock, so he really hadn't been exaggerating about five minutes. Fine. He was still drying his hands on a bit of rough brown paper towel when he finally stepped into the hall, and he threw it at Billy when he finished. "Well?"

Billy pushed away from the wall, stepping up to him, not particularly caring who might be watching. "Are you fucking crazy? Do you know what day it is?"

Joey's expression hardened, eyes glinting a sneer. "Yes."

Billy backed away. "Okay. Just..."

"God, I can't keep doing this," Joey said, looking away, stubborn composure broken. "Okay. You gotta get going. I know. Be ca—"

Billy wrapped his arms around Joey and pulled him in tight. Complete and total end of the line, kissing him in the hallway in broad daylight, but fuck, what else could he do. "I'm sorry," he said against Joey's mouth, then kissed him again. "Come with me."

Joey's fingers tightened at Billy's nape, in his shirt, then disentangled themselves quickly. "Are you fucking crazy?"

"No. We can do this faster together," Billy said. There's something else I forgot about," Billy said through clenched teeth. "I need somebody to stand lookout."

"Where you going up?" Joey asked. "There are lots of—"

"First floor bathroom."

"Oh, gotcha. I stake out the stall or something, right?"

"Not 'or something,'" Billy corrected him. "That's _exactly_ what you do."

Joey breathed out. "As long as we make the call. Five-thirty everybody."

"It's almost three. No sweat. Time to drill and everything."

"Not so loud," Joey murmured, pulling Billy to one side as a freshman edged past them.

"Where have I heard that before?"

" _Asshole_."

* * *

"That thing is fucking ugly," Snuffy said matter-of-factly, punctuating his words with the make-up brush he'd been using to put on blush.

Billy turned the statue around on the dressing table, marching it up to Snuffy with a series of thunks.

"Keep it out of my face, will you? What's the metal thing, anyway?"

"Dunno," Joey said. "Parker has all kinds of weird shit in his office."

"Yeah, well, you'd better hide it," Phil said, playing along. "Aren't stolen statues and shit doomed to a life of hiding, passed on from year to year?"

"Yeah," Billy said. "But I thought maybe he could be our good-luck...god. Imp. Thing."

"Looks like a monkey," Hank said dubiously.

"Says the guy who should appreciate it on a cultural level," Snuffy said, frowning at the eyeliner-aging he'd just attempted on his forehead.

"Jesus, gimme that thing," Joey said, swiping the pencil out of Snuffy's hand.

"Thanks," Snuffy said, muffled because Joey had him by the chin and was trying to tilt him toward the nearest light source.

"Who's _on_ make-up crew, anyway?" Phil asked. He didn't look that bad in his costume, which was more than could be said for a lot of the guys. 

"Nobody," Snuffy said authoritatively. "Ever seen 'Cats?'"

"No, why?"

"They do their own make-up. Same deal."

"Sucks to be you," Joey said, frowning a little as he worked on Snuffy's eyes.

"Not anymore," Snuffy said sweetly.

Billy stuck the statue under Phil's pile of clothes, then wandered the dressing room for a bit, restless. So easy it had almost been scary, figuring out what vents went where and that Parker's vent was right over his couch. He'd managed to find the headmaster's office, too, and shit, that was right over the _desk_. He'd never forget the look on Joey's face when he dropped back through with the statue under one arm. Almost like he was beginning to suspect some sort of diabolical intervention, too. Worth it, though, for the kiss he'd gotten. _Infinitely_ worth it. And Snuffy and Hank were something resembling functional.

"...no, _you_ need to trade for the brown ones, black just looks silly on your sorry ass, especially with that—"

"These ones actually _fit_ ," Snuffy protested, stomping the boots in question forcefully against the floor.

"Don't move!" Joey sounded irritated. 

Billy was about to offer to hold Snuffy down when Oger walked into the room. Too sunny as usual, beaming behind his owlish glasses and carrying that God-forsaken clipboard. He took role quickly (by a miracle, no one missing) and shocked Billy by skipping the usual pep-talk. Maybe he'd given it so many times in dress rehearsal that he was tired of it. Oger did, however, seem to have something to say to _him_.

"Well, Mr. Tepper, I'd just, ah, like to say that you've, ah, done an admirable job here."

Billy waved his hand irrelevantly. "Nah, you know, it's noth—"

"You've never, ah, been modest, so I'll just ignore that and tell you to, ah, break a leg. Curtain's in twenty."

"Yes, sir." Billy watched him leave again, fairly certain he'd never be so openly complimented by a teacher again. Except maybe Parker, who was fucking delusional. Who, oddly enough, hadn't—

"Mr. Tepper."

Billy blinked and turned around. "Sir?"

"This isn't exactly where I expected to find you," Parker said. "In fact, I hadn't counted on you getting involved here at all, but it seems like you're enjoying yourself for once."

"There's something to be said for drama," Billy said earnestly.

Parker glanced across the room at his friends. "I see. Whatever it is, I'm sure you'll pull through. At this rate, we might get you to focus on trigonometry."

"I _have_ been focusing," Billy said defensively. Joey had seen to that.

"We'll see when grades come out, won't we? Break a leg."

"Yes, sir."

Joey waited until Parker was gone to set down the eyeliner and wander over, arms folded across his chest. "Are we in the clear?"

"I can't tell," Billy admitted. "Hey!" he yelled to the room at large. "Curtain in twenty!"

Joey smiled at the chorus of groans and _whatevers_ , shaking his head. "You know, Snuffy has a good idea every once in a while."

"Yeah?" Billy raised an eyebrow.

"This was one of them." Joey leaned in a little, then thought better of it, before going to finish Snuffy's makeup.

Restless, Billy wandered into the wings, peering through the gap between wall and curtain. The auditorium wasn't packed, but it was filling faster than he had thought it would. More parents in from out of town than he had realized would bother to come. His parents weren't there, of course, and neither was Joey's dad. Probably a blessing, the more Billy thought about it. He thought he could see Phil's people in the center section—all that conspicuous pale hair—and possibly Snuffy's mom, though she was too far in the back for Billy to tell. Hank hadn't commented on whether his family was coming or not.

Oger was an arrogant _artiste_ , sure, but not arrogant enough to belabor an already ponderous show with some kind of directorial prologue. The curtain went up on time, and Joey decided he could manage huddling in the wings beside Billy, even with his backdrops making their debut less than ten feet away. In the dark, it was tempting to take Joey's hand, so Billy did.

"What's that for?" Joey whispered, no longer pretending to listen to the first scene. Carver sounded like he was nervous, over-acting Theseus. Sheesh.

Billy gave his hand a squeeze. "Luck."

"We're gonna need it." Charles was having a hard time with his falsetto, which wasn't a good sound for Hippolyta. At all. Hadn't they cleared that up in rehearsal?

"Godspeed intermission," Billy said under his breath.

* * *

"That," Phil said, kicking his shoes off, "could've been better."

Billy kicked them into the shadow of the counter, briefly fanning the air in front of his face. "Could've been worse, too. Charles got himself through puberty before the Titania scenes."

Joey looked up from retouching Hank's make-up, eyes flicking from Billy to Snuffy.

"Mechanicals, you're tight," Billy said, casually walking over to give Phil's pile of clothes a kick. _Not that stupid, Joey—and yeah, it's still here, thank God._

"One more to go," Snuffy said, then chugged half a bottle of water. He wiped the run-off on his sleeve, producing a smear of beige.

"Jesus, Snuffy, that won't come out," Joey said, gesturing for him to come over to the chair where Hank had been sitting a moment before. "Your eyeliner's fucked."

"I think Joey's found his calling."

"I think you need to remember who's writing on your face and with what," Joey cautioned, taking the pencil point to Snuffy's cheek.

Snuffy turned his head away sharply. "Okay, okay!"

Phil stepped up to Billy while the other two squabbled, looking kind of pensive. "Who else knows?"

"About the statue? Everybody," Billy said. "About where it's going? You and Joey."

Phil looked relieved. "That's smart, because wouldn't McAllister love some revenge about now. He's been snooping around here. I think he saw something."

"Shit," Billy whispered. "Move it."

"Where?" Phil asked incredulously. "You need it when the curtain goes up, and I need to be out there when it does!"

"I don't care," Billy said, glancing nervously around the dressing room. No sign of McAllister. "Somewhere safe. Outside, even."

"Fifteen minutes, Billy. I might get caught."

"You haven't been yet. You're fast."

Phil made a frustrated gesture. " _Where?_ "

Billy thought for a second, watching Joey fix Snuffy's age lines. "Old oak near the flagpole. The weeds are getting high."

"Which _one?_ " Phil asked in frustration, awkwardly bundling up his heavy velvet cloak, trying to conceal the statue in it entirely. "There are two."

"The closer one," Billy said, steering him up by the shoulders and pointing to the door. "Go now. I'll cover for you if I have to."

"Fuck, how do I get…" Phil left in a hurry, beeline along the wall until he reached the door.

"All set," Joey said, sweeping the pencil point down to Snuffy's cheek. He jabbed lightly, twisting it.

"Hey! What the—" Snuffy peered into the mirror, mortified, rubbing at the beauty mark.

"Serves you right," Hank said, then burst out laughing. "Joey ain't your dresser, man."

Joey threw the eyeliner in Snuffy's bag, then shot Billy a questioning look. _What's going on?_

Billy joined Joey by the mirror, leaning in behind him. "If Phil makes it, my run time's cut significantly."

Joey turned around, wide-eyed. "What do you mean 'if Phil'—"

"Shhh! I had him run it outside. Stash it. That way I won't have to run with—"

Joey looked like he was about to panic. "We practiced—"

"It can't hurt," Billy insisted, sliding his hand up Joey's arm. "Trust me."

"Aw, young love."

Billy didn't dare turn around. He had to grip Joey's other arm just to keep Joey from wheeling around. _Goddamn you, McAllister._

"Knock it off," Snuffy said, and Billy heard a chair creak. "You want some good shit? Huh?"

"What's it to you, Bradberry?" Billy could hear the sneer in his voice, feel him standing close behind. Too close. Joey was shaking now, wanting to break away, Billy could feel it. As much as he wanted to clock the grin off that bastard's face himself—

"They're old news. I thought you had better taste than that."

McAllister laughed. "Oh, that's a good one. You got something better?"

"Maybe," Snuffy said, and Billy heard the catch in his voice, telltale sign of a gamble.

McAllister took a few steps away, probably facing Snuffy now. "Try me."

"Right under your nose, dickhead."

Billy wasn't exactly sure what happened, but by the time he turned around, McAllister was on the floor cursing with his face hidden behind his hands. Hank was staring at Snuffy like he'd just seen a ghost, and Snuffy—Snuffy was staring at McAllister with eyes the size of stage lights. Fist clenched at his side, shaking.

"Damn," Hank said finally.

"Hell has definitely frozen over," Joey observed over Billy's shoulder.

McAllister was staring at his fingers now, which were completely covered in blood. "Shit," he muttered. " _Shit_."

Billy felt Joey shove him out of the way, stepping forward. "I can fix your makeup," he said. Voice cool, challenging.

McAllister looked up, pure hatred, then smiled thinly. "What's in it for you?"

"Your silence," Joey said coldly. "Asshole."

McAllister swore again, then staggered to his feet. "What the _fuck_ ever."

Billy raised his eyebrows at Joey. _You sure about that?_

"There's time," Joey said, directing his words at McAllister.

The sound of the door nearly made Billy jump. Phil closed it behind him casually, then wandered over to investigate the scene he'd more or less missed. "Time for what?"

"Nothing," McAllister muttered, stumbling over to Snuffy's chair.

Billy glanced at his watch, then at Joey. "Five minutes!"

* * *

It was cold outside, colder than Billy had imagined. Spring hadn't let go just yet, lurking in the shadows once the sun went down. Running was easier that way; the heat of his body drove off the chill. His palms still stung from hitting the basement door, that final obstacle, before he burst out into the night. Clear sky, stars a pale blur in dark blue overhead. He sprinted through the grass and almost slipped. Just a maze, this brick wall and that turn and that forgotten courtyard until—

He could see it. Phil had left the statute exactly where Billy had wanted it, shape darker than darkness looming in the new green. He grabbed it almost without stopping, grateful he hadn't had to carry it the whole way. Why hadn't he thought of that complication, either? What was wrong with him lately? Furthermore, how had Joey known?

Too late for questions. Some things, he guessed, Joey just knew, and he'd have to get used to that. Billy sagged under the flagpole, gasping to catch his breath. He glanced up, squinting, then set the statue down, reaching for the cord. It was so goddamn tall that bringing the flag down would take longer than he liked. He hurried, straining, knowing he wouldn't make it back nearly as fast. He prayed no one in the wings was paying attention. And _fuck_ , he was missing the best part. Missing Joey's stifled laughter in the dark—

No, no, he shouldn't think about that. Almost down. Billy had a moment of panic; the flag was dragging on the ground now, and he hadn't thought about whether he meant to remove it or not. _No, that's just one more liability!_ Billy secured the dangling hook on one of the…thingies, he didn't know what, holding the flag in place. Suddenly it occurred to him that the weight of the statue might prove too much. Not allowing himself to dwell on that, either, Billy slipped the statue onto the hook and started working the pully again, single-handed, until it was aloft with the flag, jingling all the way.

Billy grinned in spite of himself, tugging faster. If only Joey could've seen.

* * *

"Curtain call!" Billy hissed into the wings, trying desperately to cut through the whooping and hollering. God, they had no class. Couldn't even wait till the lights were up again and the audience was shouting its head off anyway.

Joey had been quiet ever since he returned, following Billy like a not-entirely-useless shadow. Once Billy got back, they had used what was left of the last scene to clear up carelessly-flung costumes and stray makeup articles. Joey hadn't even asked if he ran into any problems, and Billy didn't think to ask if anyone had noticed he was missing. If something had gone wrong, Joey would've said something about it by then, and Billy would've been quick with a report of any hitches, of which there had been none.

"Ready?" Joey asked, hands on the rope.

"Yeah," Billy said, squinting at the lined-up figures on the darkened stage. "Take 'er away."

All in all, it must've been a good show. The parents sounded happy, but hey, they were parents, and what faculty Billy had spotted, he couldn't necessarily tell them from the rest. He knew that Parker and Gould were out there, and he knew that Oger had taken a seat in the front row. Billy felt a pang of envy—watching Snuffy take the spotlight for his bow, he wondered what it must feel like. All eyes on you, only you, open acknowledgement for the performance you'd worked so fucking hard –

Joey grabbed his hand, tugging him back into the dusty darkness of stage right. Ropes brushed his arms and scraped his cheeks, but Joey seemed to know where the wall was, led him on until they stopped short, wrapped in musty claustrophobia and each other. He felt rough cinderblock under his left palm and Joey's shoulder under his right.

"This is how it is," Joey whispered. "No one knows what we've done. We're only names printed on a page, and if they don't know us—"

"Someone knows us," Billy said, finding Joey's cheek with his fingertips, tilting Joey's head until he felt warm breath on his lips. "I don't care if they find the fucking program twenty years from now, someone will know—"

"I'll always know, Billy."

And no matter what happened in the morning, no matter how early they got called into Parker's office, no matter how many hours of detention they'd have to spend, it would always, _always_ be worth it. They were missing curtain call, but nothing was worth giving up these kisses.


	15. Within Reason

On the evening of October 31, 1990, Billy Tepper and Joey Trotta went missing for approximately three hours.

Under normal circumstances, Edward Parker would have pulled them from their first period class the next day, confronted them with what they already knew, and threatened them with probation should any pranks be forthcoming. A costumed duel in the cafeteria hardly counted as normal circumstances, and besides, it _was_ , in fact, a prank. Knowing those two, it couldn't have been anything else. 

When Frank had phoned with a report of two suspiciously familiar students sneaking the periphery of the grounds after lock-up, the Dean promptly found himself envisioning elaborate, Billy-style revenge. By morning, however, nothing remotely resembling the water balloon incident had transpired. Edward Parker, being a reasonable man (within reason), had chosen to let that one slide. 

The real problem was that Mr. Tepper and Mr. Trotta had started to behave themselves.

If Edward had learned anything in twelve years of experience, it was that a drastic change in a student's behavior was to be treated with as much suspicion as over-consistency. Billy had been a reliable source of harmless (if hilarious) trouble from his very first week, and it hadn't taken him long to find an unexpected ally in his studious, temperamental new roommate. Edward hadn't thought twice about placing Billy in the company of Joey Trotta; if anything, he'd expected a guy like Billy would get bored and mind his own business. Clearly, he'd misjudged both boys—the first in a long line of mistakes. 

It had only been his second summerterm at Regis, but Edward knew damn well that heat and humidity didn't change much from East-coast institution to East-coast insitution. In fact, he'd been all too grateful to move from Virginia to Massachusetts: perfect opportunity to put a bad job and a failed relationship behind him. Besides, Regis had a reputation, and Edward had something to prove. Unfortunately, so did Billy Tepper.

Three weeks after classes started, what with June restlessness at its height, Edward had been faced with a serious quandary. Someone had hacked the administrative records system and changed all the passwords. The guidance office had thrown a fit.

By the time everything was set to rights again, a laptop computer had been confiscated from Billy's closet and Joey had received a reprimand for complete and total complicity. A week after, both were given two weeks' detention for filling Dr. Gould's office with the balloons. Billy couldn't have done the job without his roommate's assistance.

What was strange was how calmly they took it, Edward decided upon reflection. Smug sidelong glances, self-satisfied smirks. They'd known each other for barely a month, and already they acted as if the key to invincibility lay in unity. In a sense, they were right.

Bringing Bradberry, Donoghue, Giles, and Montoya into it is where they went wrong.

By the time fall term was underway, Edward had what most administrations would consider a Code Red situation on his hands. On the other hand, the size of the operation made them much easier to catch. Dr. Gould, being a man of remarkably good humor despite his years and background, even took things in stride when Tepper somehow managed to use one of the pay-phones to change the destination on his weekend-vacation airline ticket from Madrid to Moscow. Thank God he hadn't actually boarded the plane!

Even with Billy on near-constant probation, things didn't calm down. There were six-packs of beer to be smuggled and offending rivals' lockers to be rigged with firecrackers. Shutting down Billy's sources seemed impossible; just when Edward had discovered that a local public school student had something to do with procuring the firecrackers, a secret post-office box turned up with Billy's name on it. All the while, Joey was on his roommate's heels. A baffling _twice_ he'd attempted to take the rap, and twice Edward had warned him that worse trouble lay there than elsewhere. No coincidence, he was sure, that Joey had started two fights in September, that very same month.

It was then that Edward realized only Billy had anything resembling control over Joey's temper.

By chance, he had been watching that day in the cafeteria when Joey blew up at Phil Donoghue and his sophomore friend at the dinner table. Edward had been too far away to discern the exact cause, and just when he'd been ready to intervene, Joey had turned on his heel—almost as if remembering something, or for once thinking better of it—and _left_. Edward wasn't sure who was more relieved, the sophomore or himself.

As the days following stretched into weeks, Billy seemed to lose interest—temporarily, Edward assumed—in reinforcing his role as Resident Pain in the Ass. As far as the Dean could tell, Billy was not only going to classes, but actually getting a good deal of his homework done; hanging around the teachers' lounge was enough to confirm that. So, too, was it sufficient to learn that Billy had taken an active interest in the art room.

At Halloween, though, the peace had finally been shattered, and Edward had finally started to wonder. Even in the absence of retaliation, something was amiss. Edward went about watching his target much as he always had, only this time, it included keeping an eye out for the _other_ target. Besides, assigning equal weight to Joey was only logical.

Lately, the two of them were seldom, if ever, seen apart.

Edward could think of any number of explanations. Maybe Billy had done something to another student, was waiting for his cover to be blown, clinging to Joey for reassurance. Even tough guys did that, couldn't operate without their best friends on call. He'd seen it before. It didn't occur to Edward until almost Thanksgiving, when Joey had started to look nervous and hunted, that perhaps Billy hadn't done anything—perhaps something was up with Joey's father, and perhaps Billy was, for once in his life, scared as hell, unwilling to let Joey out of his sight. When Billy went home with him for the holiday, Edward had held his breath. The last thing that anybody needed was trouble with Albert Trotta.

Be that as it may, Billy and Joey had returned to Regis safe and sound. According to the lounge buzz, Billy's grades were still improving, and Joey looked for once like there wasn't a lit fuse lurking just behind his eyes. Who would have known they'd be good for each other?

One weekend in mid-December, just before Christmas break, Edward saw them together in the rec room. Joey had been sprawled on the battered old sofa, frown intensifying with each click of the remote. Billy, on the floor with his back to the couch, had reached back over his shoulder and taken away the remote, setting it carefully on the floor. He turned and leaned on the couch cushion, facing Joey directly. The hushed sound of their voices had followed Edward up the hall and into the corridor, an oddly soothing sound on a winter evening.

Then, in the wake of a perfectly peaceful January, February presented a unique conundrum.

Valentine's Day wasn't so much a problem in that it meant either busing the boys out to a dance or bringing girls in; it was more that the inevitable emphasis on romance heightened temptation on both sides of the fence. Edward had dealt with a truly astonishing array of situations—everything from students sneaking out to outsiders sneaking in. Illicit notes, flowers, gifts, and trysts were hardly unheard-of. His first February at Regis, Edward had dealt with somebody's girlfriend on the premesis.

This year, Valentine week had come and gone with hardly a hitch, unless you counted the study room.

The trouble with a report is that, without sufficient evidence, it can't be confirmed. Robert Anderson, who, given the chance, files complaints about anything and everything, was hardly, in Edward's mind, the most reliable source for such a report. Unusual sounds can be accounted for in a variety of ways, and the fact that no intruders were either caught or detected detracted significantly from Mr. Anderson's claim. Study Room 4 may or may not have smelled of sex the next day, and to be honest, Edward didn't care to find out. Regis is, after all, an exclusively male institution.

Not that Edward wasn't aware of the alternative. He'd dealt with a sexual harrassment case in Virginia—a senior and a freshman, both boys, and it had even been a co-ed establishment. He'd never caught a consenting pair in a clinch, and wasn't eager to, either, as the consequences would be severe. At least the girlfriend a year ago had had the sense not to hide in Keller's room (although the consequences had _still_ been severe).

March rolled around before Edward actually caught a glimpse of the study room log and noticed that Billy's name was down for the afternoon of February 14. He had thought about that for a second before flipping it shut and deciding that Billy had done far worse in his time than masturbate on semi-public school property.

In fact, things didn't get messy again until the Terrible Trios returned from spring break in New Orleans.

By all accounts, Billy Tepper stage managing for _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ seemed like an excellent idea. Both his grades and his behavior had improved—and stayed that way, much to Edward's relief—and Timothy Oger was perfectly willing to vouch for him, if haltingly. Besides, Joey was in charge of the sets, and anything that required their collaboration was at this point to be considered more help than detriment, at least until the six-hundred dollar leak in the first floor bathroom.

*

While Janitor Palma stood there assessing the damages, Dean Edward Parker headed for the upperclassmen dorms, third floor. He hadn't seen Billy and Joey at dinner, and according to Palma, the wrench that had shattered the overhead lights and landed in the middle toilet didn't belong to Maintenance.

"Is too old," said the aging Italian, supplementing his words with a broken-wrench gesture.

 _Not so old it didn't fail to succeed in ripping up the pipe_ , Edward thought grimly, giving the knob a jiggle before he knocked. No answer. He knocked a second time, frowning.

"Mr. Tepper, you have ten seconds to open this door."

Edward heard some quiet cussing, followed by a brief shuffle around the room. Was he mistaken? Had Billy been asleep—

"Hey, sorry," Billy panted, yanking the door open. "I was, um..."

"Running the mile?" Edward asked, raising his eyebrows. "Not likely. Can I ask you something, Mr. Tepper?" The boy was dressed in a t-shirt and boxers, tousled, looked like he might reasonably have been in bed. Over Billy's shoulder, Edward could see –

Billy ran his fingers through his hair, shrugging as he stepped forward slightly, blocking the view. "Yeah, sure," he said evasively, eyes sweeping the hall.

 _Guilty_ , Edward thought. He had to lean to catch another glimpse over Billy's shoulder. Joey was there, too, curled up in Billy's bed, apparently fast asleep, covers up to his chin. _Interesting_. 

"Your roommate's exhausted, I see," Edward said, attempting to be casual.

"Yeah," Billy said defensively, taking another step forward, forcing him farther into the hall. "Studied all night." 

Edward had never seen that look in Billy's eyes before, not even during any of their confrontations in the office. He allowed himself a last glance at Joey, then fixed his eyes on Billy. He couldn't forget his purpose; that would be his worst mistake yet.

"Look, when you two don't show up for supper at about the same time there's an impressive leak in the first floor bathroom, I consider that suspicious, understood?"

"Yes, sir. But as you can clearly see, we weren't there," Billy pointed out, relaxing into his usual cocksure stance. He hadn't blinked, though.

"Yes," Edward admitted, regarding Billy thoughtfully. "I suppose that would be the key, wouldn't it. But if I find out you had anything to do with this in any way, shape, or _form_ —"

"Um, sir, you're going to wake Joey up."

Edward scowled, then ran his hand across his forehead and took a deep breath. "Have a good evening, Mr. Tepper," he said evenly. "Back to reading, or whatever it was."

"Yes, sir." Billy's voice fairly oozed relief.

Edward didn't hear the door slam until he was partway up the hall. Half a dozen things that hadn't made sense in all of their reassuring lack of logic during the past seven months suddenly clicked, least of all because the smell behind him was probably identical to the one in Study Room 4. Of all the impulses he'd ever had to look back, this was one that he planned on ignoring to the ends of the earth. After all, the consequences would be severe.

And Edward Parker, being a reasonable man, wasn't willing to face them.


	16. Composure

"You can't tell me that doesn't taste like shit," Ric said, his eyes fixed on Snuffy's cigarette.

Joey set his box down on the sidewalk, then wiped the sweat off his forehead. "It doesn't," he said, turning to Ric, but not before sparing a glance at the clove (a departure from Snuffy's usual). "Tastes like burning leaves, only sweeter."

Snuffy smirked at him and took another drag, then blew the faintly spicy smoke in Ric's face. "See? Everyone knows Mr. Trotta is a man of taste."

Ric waved the fumes away. "You're sick."

"Are we packing or what?" Billy asked, pushing past Snuffy with a box of his own. He stopped beside Joey's box, then glanced up at Joey. "Heavy? I told you, you put too much shit in there."

"No," Joey said pointedly, bending to pick up his box. "C'mon."

They continued down the sidewalk, leaving Snuffy and Ric to argue over Camels and Djarum Blacks and which would kill Snuffy faster. Lucky bastards; they weren't leaving till later, and Phil's parents had picked him up that morning. To be honest, Joey liked clove smoke. It reminded him of junior high: jam sessions with the Brigade in D.'s basement. Never Dean, always D. _We're the only garage band that rehearses in the cellar_ , he used to boast. Joey smiled in spite of himself. Time _did_ fly too fast. Junior year was officially over, and at this time next year, they'd be graduating.

"You okay?" Billy asked.

Joey turned his head, grinning, and hitched his box up higher. "Yeah, why?"

Billy shrugged as best he could without dropping his box. "You're quiet."

Why not tell the truth? "I've been thinking about home," Joey said.

"I've been trying _not_ to," Billy muttered. "Mom's only been here twenty minutes, I can't stand her already."

Joey tried not to laugh—unsuccessfully, so what the fuck else was new. "You can never stand her, Billy."

"So? You can't stand your dad and that doesn't keep you from thinking about—"

"Home. I said I was thinking about home, not about Dad."

They walked in silence till they reached the curb, then set the boxes down, each to his own steadily growing collection. Barbara's Cadillac was parked there, trunk wide open. Joey watched Billy start to transfer his stuff, wondering how on earth it was all going to fit, especially since Barbara was back in the dorm gathering the last load of Billy's junk. Billy had packed and concealed the most important items himself: tool kit, electronics, leftover firecrackers, and a shoebox labeled _JOEY_.

Joey shaded his eyes and glanced across the parking lot, serenaded by Billy's cursing. No sign of his father yet. _Dammit_. He had to get there before Billy left, or Joey would be screwed. Joey glanced over at Billy and sighed. "Need some help with that?"

Billy's head flew up, sweat-slicked hair sticking to his temples. "It'd be nice," he said, almost sarcastic.

"Sorry," Joey said, bending to grab one of Billy's boxes. "It's just..."

"Bitch was early," Billy said under his breath, beating a pair of sneakers into submission between (improbably) a couple stacks of books. "We'll delay her if we have to. I'm not about to forfeit two weeks on the Cape with you just because your dad didn't get to security-check my— _mmm_."

The nape of Billy's neck was damp under Joey's fingers, shower and exertion intermingled. He tasted far better than the cool shade of the trunk, coffee and syrup from breakfast. Their last one together till—

Billy broke away quickly. "She'll be here soon."

"I would hope so," said a familiar voice behind them. "I'm looking forward to meeting her."

Joey spun around, furious, his heart hammering in his throat. "When the...when did...you..." Joey struggled for control of his words, but it was no use. Glaring would have to do.

"Not long ago," his father said, calm and fucking even as ever, smiling benignly at Billy. "It's a pleasure to see you again, William."

Billy shook himself out of his stupor, closing the distance between himself and Joey's father. "Pleasure's all mine," he said, offering his hand. Cocky as hell. He made Joey proud.

"This is everything," Joey said tersely, changing the subject. "Where's the car?"

"Alessandro's on the way," his father assured. "I had a few words to exchange with the Dean out front; I told him I'd rather walk to meet you."

As if on cue, the dark car glided up behind Barbara's. Joey gave Billy a hard look. He wanted to scream or hit something, or possibly cry. How much had his father seen?

"Beautiful vehicle," Albert said, nodding at the Cadillac. "Has she gone up to the school?"

"Yeah," Billy said, his tone suddenly, curiously defensive. "Getting the last of my stuff."

Enough fucking around. Joey stepped between his father and Billy, hands clenched tight at his sides. "Tell Alessandro to pop the trunk." Behind him, Billy sucked in his breath. His father just kept smiling, like his son wasn't staring him down with what said son _hoped_ was a blood-boiling look. Shaking, Joey repeated, "I _said_ —"

The trunk popped, and Alessandro slung a careless arm out the driver's side window.

"Thank you," Joey said tonelessly.

Billy was already at Joey's boxes, pretending to puzzle out which one should be packed first. Joey just stared at his father for a few more seconds, completely useless, before going over to help Billy. He heard high heels on the pavement.

"You didn't tell me there was more than just your sheets, William."

Joey looked up and saw Barbara standing three feet away—pink in the cheeks, hair slightly frizzed, mad as hell. He averted his eyes quickly, only to meet Billy's, which wasn't much of an improvement. Billy wasn't even trying to mask his amusement.

"Ah, Barbara," Albert said kindly. "Please, allow me."

"Thanks. More help than I was expecting," Barbara said, warm greeting edging out her ire. "You must be Albert."

"Your son is otherwise occupied," Albert said, and for a moment— _just_ a moment—Joey was sorry for his behavior. "One good turn deserves another."

"First-name basis," Billy muttered, standing with one of Joey's smaller boxes tucked under each arm. He tilted his head at Joey, silent command for him to follow.

Joey struggled his guitar case, paint set, and a stack of CDs over to the trunk, careful not to meet Alessandro's sunglass-gaze as he passed. Billy had already settled the two smaller boxes into the trunk, and he was reaching for something that Joey carried— _anything_.

"Interesting," Joey said under his breath, shoving the CDs at Billy. He could hear their parents chatting harmless pleasantries over at the Cadillac. "Dad's not usually a people-person. I mean, not like this."

"Yeah," Billy said, chewing his lip. "He talked to me and shit at Thanksgiving, but there was this...distance."

"He's no dumbass. Your mom's fucking anal, but she's harmless."

"Which adds up to what?" Billy glanced over the hood of the limousine, looking vaguely worried.

"He's hitting on her so she'll open up," Joey said. "That's all. Just making sure. He can't take any chances."

Billy smirked. "Dumb. She deserves it."

Joey leaned back against the car, folding his arms across his chest. "Enjoy the show."

Billy tugged on his shoulder. "Oh, no you don't. We have stuff to load."

It didn't take them very long, and by the time they finished, Joey's father was still talking to Barbara. _Getting old fast_ , Joey thought. The longer they talked, the more uneasy he was going to get. Billy, on the other hand, reassured that Albert had no sinister designs upon his mother, seemed content to know that she was too dim to understand what was really happening, good for her. He tugged Joey back to the trunk, making sure they were as well out of sight as they could be.

"Look, this is goodbye," he whispered. "No way they're gonna leave us alone. You know that."

"Yeah," Joey said softly, compelled to look anywhere but into Billy's eyes. "I know."

"So—" Billy cut himself off, then touched Joey's cheek. "Hey."

Joey caught his hand, briefly holding it there before moving it carefully away. "Billy—"

"Three weeks, Joey," he said softly. "Just three weeks."

Joey looked up, surrendering to the inevitable heartbreak that was Billy's lost look despite his brave words. "Not so bad," he said, cracking his most unconvincing smile.

"Nah," Billy said, and he was grinning, then, staring down at his feet like he did when Parker trapped him on the spot. "So—"

Joey leaned and kissed him, fierce and quick. "Iloveyou."

"Shhh." Billy put his arms around him, so daring, and Joey felt his throat close.

"Are you boys ready?" Albert's voice, loudly tentative, inquiring as if...

"He knows," Joey whispered. "Fuck, he knows."

Billy let go of him, nodding once. "Yeah," he called back. "Good to go."

"Billy, we have to meet your father for supper. He's anxious to see your grades," Barbara said, her volume totally uncalled-for.

Billy took Joey's hand and squeezed it. "I'll call."

"So will I."

"'Bye."

And he was gone, just like that, walking around to meet his mother. Joey stood rooted to the spot, heard one car door, then another accompanied by his father's voice, and the Cadillac pulled away. _Gone, gone, gone,_ he thought, Billy was gone. Out of the corner of his eye, Joey caught some movement that didn't belong. Snuffy and Ric were headed toward him, waving after the Cadillac. His father, too, hands in his pockets, looking pleased.

"Have you forgotten anything?"

"No," Joey said, closing the trunk. "I'm sure."

"Good, then," his father said, sparing a glance for Snuffy and Ric. "Are these...?"

"Yeah," Joey said, grateful of the excuse to look at them.

"Guess we're left to hold down the fort?" Ric ventured, shading his eyes as the Cadillac finally faded from sight.

"Yep," Snuffy agreed, lighting up another Black. Hank had left the night before, but Snuffy had very little to say about it.

"Take it easy, okay?" Joey said, stepping up onto the curb to accept Ric's handshake.

Snuffy blew some smoke over his shoulder, smirking. "Right, right. Nothing you wouldn't do."

Joey was intensely aware that his father was watching—patiently, but watching all the same. What possessed him to do what he did next, he wasn't entirely sure, but since Snuffy had opened that particular door and practically dared him with it, he might as well take it. He held out his hand and said, "Got one to spare?"

Snuffy blinked at him a couple of times, then said, "Sure."

Joey concentrated on the transfer of the cigarette: pack to Snuffy's fingers, Snuffy's fingers to his. Joey held it poised between index and middle while Snuffy produced a lighter, sucking in gently as the opposite end of the cigarette flickered and caught. He held the smoke in his mouth for a second before swallowing. It made his throat ache for all the wrong reasons, but the taste of honey and clove oil was strong on his lips, warming him. A couple more drags and he dropped the cigarette and crushed it out with his toe.

Joey turned to his father and said, "Let's go."

 

* * *

The room was dark, just the way Joey had left it. He set his two suitcases beside the bed and sat down on the mattress, deciding that the rest of his shit out in the garage could wait until later, or maybe Alessandro would take the liberty of bringing it in. That all depended on what mood he thought Joey was in, and how Joey might react if he were to touch it. Joey took a perverse pleasure in knowing this about his father's most trusted assistant. Alessandro didn't want to make trouble. If Joey wanted to do something without his father catching on, chances were that Alessandro wouldn't blink even if he noticed.

Joey untied his shoes and kicked out of them, then balled up his socks and tossed them in the general direction of the closet. He couldn't decide what he needed worse: sleep, or to talk to Billy. He hadn't gotten to bed until about two in the morning largely because Billy was a procrastinating, noisy packer. Billy would've gotten home before he had. Joey remembered Barbara's place in New Haven like some far-off dream; Billy's Room the Beige Nightmare. Billy was probably pacing wall to wall, wondering if Joey was home yet. Or maybe Joey was just flattering himself and Billy didn't give a shit, had too much unpacking to do and too much torturing his mom to catch up on. Joey's eyelids got heavy, making the decision for him.

The phone jarred him awake, and Joey fumbled for the edge of his desk, almost knocking it off. "Huh?"

"Dinner's ready, Joseph. Am I disturbing you?"

 _Fuck you to fucking hell_ , Joey thought. "I was sleeping."

"You haven't eaten since breakfast," his father said, gentle and patient. "And, unfortunately, cigarettes don't count."

"I don't smoke," Joey said, his throat suddenly numb.

"I wasn't implying that you do. Come to dinner."

Joey's father hung up, and a moment later Joey heard his footsteps in the hall, steadily progressing toward the stairs. Joey waited until he had passed, then another five minutes beyond that, deciding he had better keep up the appearance of being angry. Mostly, he was tired and frustrated and wanted Billy. They hadn't been able to spend last night together, as Billy hadn't packed, and Phil had mentioned casually that Ric's room was a war zone and best steered clear of. Fucker.

Once in a while, Rosemary made something that wasn't obscure or Italian. Joey couldn't remember the last time he'd had tacos that weren't the sorry-excuse Regis version, and Joey's father even seemed to like them. The good thing about a meal that required such extensive assembly was that it left very little room for talking. It didn't prevent Albert from trying, though. Joey suspected it would take a hell of a lot more than shredded cheese and lettuce.

"Your grades are impressive," his father said, picking up a stray bit of tomato and dropping it back in its bowl.

"Is that what you wanted to discuss with Dean Parker?" Joey asked, mouth half full. He reached for the taco sauce.

Albert smiled faintly, a look that Joey recognized as put-upon. "Not exactly."

"Then exactly _what_ was it?"

"I needed to check your account," his father replied mildly.

Joey let his eyes drop to his plate and made busy with the sauce.

"Does discussing money embarrass you, Joseph?"

"No." Mouth full this time.

"Good. I wouldn't want them hassling you, is all."

Joey set his taco down, filling oozing onto his plate. "Dad, I can't remember the last time Parker mentioned tuition."

"Nor should he," Albert said, reaching for the sauce.

"Then what the fuck is this discussion actually about?" Joey kept calm, though he was sure his face was turning red.

His father gave him a warning look, then screwed the lid back onto the bottle. "It's about the fact that I'm proud of you, and that I want you to have an easy time of things. Is that clear?"

Joey picked up his fork and cracked a piece of shattered taco shell into smaller pieces. "Yes."

"Good," Albert said, taking a bite of his own taco. He chewed for a while, looking thoughtful as he swallowed. "Have you thought about what you'd like to do over the next few weeks? It seems like I never have you back for long."

Joey set the fork down and squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he was somewhere alone with Billy so he could scream and rant to his heart's content. Couldn't his father trust somebody as obviously clueless as Barbara? Had that afternoon really been necessary? Was this conversation really necessary? Furthermore, there was the question of how much his father knew about his relationship with Billy. Nothing could be normal between them, didn't he get it?

"Joseph?" His father sounded concerned.

"No, I haven't," Joey said, picking his taco up again. "I thought maybe I'd sleep."

"That's a good place to start," Albert agreed, and lapsed back into silence.

Later that evening, Joey went digging through his desk, determined to find the last letter that D. had ever written him. He'd had a curious sort of correspondence with the band; most of them hated the phone, and there was something rebellious about receiving letters that his father dared not open. Those letters had gotten him through the worst of junior high, and when he left for good, off to be a sophomore at Regis, he missed those letters the most. His fingers ran across a sheaf of muddled papers, and he pulled them out of the drawer. Most of them were pages full of abandoned sketches, test-runs of human eyes and hands. There were some bits of torn notebook paper underneath, and one of them was exactly what he was looking for.

 _Hey Jo,_ it read,

_I'm not going to get all sentimental and shit but I think it sucks that you're leaving. I mean shit—we barely got this act together, and I have no fucking idea who'll sing for us. Can I kick that Luke guy's ass when you're gone, I mean really, that shit he did to you was low and I would've done it myself. Kicked his ass, I mean. Your temper's good for music, you think you'll put a group together at Reggis or whatever the fuck? Dude, I can't keep your songs. They're yours, take them with you. Michael can play guitar, but Eric is shit following his cues because he's used to yours. Anyway this note is getting sappy and you'll think I'm a fag or something, so good luck you asshole. Keep in touch okay? We'll jam sometime when you come home._

_Hang in there,  
D._

_p.s. 973-842-3909 YOU BETTER CALL_

Joey picked up the phone and dialed, hoping it wasn't too late to salvage a broken promise.

 

* * *

_The room is terribly warm now._

_Joey knows, after a hazy fashion, that he's had too much to drink. Four shots too much. In the blacklighting, what catches his eye is the white label of the vodka bottle tipped on its side, leaving a dark stain on the battered carpet. Michael is sprawled beside it looking at a magazine that Joey is somehow sure he didn't bring, looking confused. If Joey was with a woman wearing something like that, he'd be confused, too. Extremely confused. Michael is saying things that involve a lot of expletives and don't make any sense. There's a white smoking thing in his—oh. That's contributing to the not-making-sense, too._

_Eric is sitting at the drum set, also smoking, tapping out a riff from the song they've been working on for ages now. He's strangely intent on what he's doing, and Joey watches him for what feels like half an hour, finding the gleam of his eyes and the bluish light off his dark hair distracting. Eric, he thinks, is not bad-looking._

_Joey tries to find his glass and knocks it over onto the carpet. He leans over and stares at the floor, momentarily dizzy enough to panic._

_"Guys, I...uh..."_

_Somebody's arm closes around his shoulders, pulling him back against the cushions. Another arm reaches across him to retrieve something from the arm of the couch, and suddenly there's the sound of a lighter and a familiar, sweetish smell. Joey doesn't cough on the smoke, even when some of it drifts directly into his face. Breathe, just breathe. That's all he has to do. The smell is comforting, and it calms him. Inside his head, it still feels like quicksand, though._

_"I thought Italians could hold their alcohol," D. says, warm breath and smoke close to his ear. He also smells like vodka._

_"Russian," Joey says illogically, clutching at D.'s arm. He's falling into himself, and it won't stop._

_D. must think that's funny as hell, because he's laughing. "No shit. Don't think you should have more, okay?"_

_Joey turns his head, meaning to glare, but again the colors are all wrong, and D.'s blue eyes are glowing like a demon's in the dark. For a moment, that's frightening, but D. catches hold of him again and says something quiet that Joey doesn't catch, and all he can do is close his eyes and lean in and forgive him. Fucking Irish asshole with his stupid Russian booze and his nice-smelling cigarettes. Red hair, too, gorgeous like fire. Damn him._

_Joey tries to say something angry, but he just exhales against D.'s shoulder._

_D. laughs again. "Joey, are we gonna carry—to have—to carry you home?"_

_Somebody else is living in Joey's brain now. "Yeah," he says._

_"Nuh-uh, you fucking way a ton," D. says, giving him a light shove. But he doesn't let go, and that's fine._

_Joey opens his eyes and lifts his head, thinking that since this is all ridiculous anyway, he might as well kiss D._

_"Um," D. says, but he's not actually opposed to this idea, because he opens his mouth instead of pulling away._

_Joey tastes tongue and saliva first; later, he'll probably wonder why, because that's stupid and obvious. Seconds pass, and he tastes ash-spiked vodka, sweet like the cigarette, but sharp, too, because ash is burned and burning things taste dangerous. Even as D. is leaning into it like Joey doesn't taste at all bad himself, which is also stupid because vodka doesn't really taste good, Joey breaks away and says what he's really thinking._

_"Fuck."_

_"Sorry," D. says, and kisses him again, and that's when the phone starts ringing._

Joey sat up, lightning-struck by morning, and blindly grabbed at the receiver. "Y-Yeah?"

"Do you always answer the phone like that?" Billy asked, his voice an impression of itself on the other end.

"Yes," Joey said thoughtlessly, glancing wide-eyed around his room. "No! I mean—"

"Sorry I woke you up," Billy said softly.

Joey fell back onto his mattress and sighed. He hadn't even bothered to take his clothes off last night. He'd almost fallen asleep while he was talking to –

"Joey?" Billy's voice was louder, and he wasn't trying to hide his concern.

"I'm sorry, too," Joey said to the ceiling. _Fuck_.

"I would've called last night, but dinner with Dad took for-fucking- _ever_." Maybe it was the sleep talking, but Billy sounded like he wanted to cry.

"It's okay," Joey said. "I called an old friend." _You fucking idiot, shut up!_ Joey's heart hammered worse than the panic in his dream-memory. The conversation had been innocent, perfectly innocent. They had decided they wanted to meet up for coffee or something, perfectly –

"That's good," Billy said. He sounded relieved and a little curious. "What friend?"

"Dean," Joey said. "Played keyboard in the band."

"Cool," Billy said, then a pause. "You getting together or anything?"

 _Shit_. "Yeah," Joey said, rolling over on his side. He curled in on himself, feeling vaguely sick. "Tomorrow night. There's this coffee house we played a couple times. He says it's still there."

"Have some coffee for me," Billy said, sounding like he was smiling.

"I hate coffee," Joey murmured, smiling in spite of himself. _See, it's okay_.

"I know," Billy said, voice soft again, suddenly curious. "This line's private, right?"

"As far as I know, yeah. I've had it since junior high. Dad's never asked me who the fuck this number or that number on the phone bill is, anyway."

"Good," Billy said thoughtfully, then went quiet again. "Everything okay? I mean—"

"Dinner sucked," Joey admitted. "He tried to start a Conversation."

"I fucking hate those. What about?"

"Life, my grades, and everything."

"That fucker. Your grades are good."

Joey beat his fist into the mattress. "No, he just used my grades as an excuse. Congratulating me."

"Your dad has no life," Billy said decisively.

"None I want to know about," Joey shot back.

Billy sucked in his breath loud enough for Joey to hear. "Sorry."

Joey felt a sudden rush of irritation. "Stop saying you're sorry."

"It's eleven-fucking-AM, I woke you up, and I'm being a nosy shit."

Joey bit his lip. "I love you anyway," he said.

"Are you sure nobody's listening?"

"Shut up."

"I love you anyway, too," Billy said, grinning again.

Joey closed his eyes and let his hand creep to his stomach, wishing he'd at least bothered to take his shirt off. This was going to be quick, messy, and embarrassing, and he hoped to God that Billy wouldn't notice. "What kind of an answer is that?"

"An honest one," Billy said, and Joey heard a squeak over the wire, like maybe Billy was in a swivel chair. Out of bed already? Not a promising image. Joey changed it so that Billy was still in bed, and maybe it was the bedframe creaking. Joey touched himself through his shorts and choked on a gasp.

"Joey?"

"I'm not awake yet," he said lamely. _And I want you here_.

"Sounds like I'm doing my level best to put you back to sleep."

Joey unbuttoned his shorts and slipped his hand inside, teasing himself through his boxers. "Nah, you're helping." Joey bit his tongue, cheeks heating fiercely. _I wish you were._

"Okay, then," Billy said, still skeptical. "You wanna tell me some more about that coffee house?"

 _No! Dammit, no!_ Joey let his breath hiss out between his teeth and wormed his hand inside his boxers. Why couldn't Billy just cooperate? "They make excellent Italian soda."

"Oh, yeah. You said that's where you get your flavor syrup."

"Did I?" Joey asked, pausing for a second. He didn't remember mentioning that, but sometimes Billy was better at remembering conversations than he was. Joey stroked himself lightly, thoughtful. "Maybe I did. When you were here at Thanksgiving?"

"Yeah, I think it was then," Billy said, distant. "I'll never forget that."

 _That's better_. Joey sucked in a deep breath and took his cock in a firm grip, working the foreskin back with his thumb. Billy had never said a word about that, he realized, like the fact he was cut and Joey wasn't made no fucking difference. It turned Joey on like nobody's business. Joey scarcely remembered to answer, "Me neither."

Billy broke out of his reverie, wistful. "I wish we could've stayed at Regis another day."

 _And fucked until Parker kicked us out_ , Joey added silently. Oh, it was building fast. _Too_ fast. "Yeah," he whispered, unable to summon more than that. He twisted till he was almost on his stomach, driving into his hand furiously. _Billy, Billy_ –

Billy hesitated, then said in that same low voice, "Sorry we couldn't—"

" _Billy_." Joey pulled his hand out of his boxers as if he'd been burned, leaving a wet smear across his stomach. He couldn't stop shaking.

"I'm here," Billy reassured him, sounding just a little—but not really—startled. "It's okay."

"Sorry," Joey said to the mattress, and curled up tighter until there was only darkness and dampness and the sound of Billy's voice in his ear.

 _Fuck_.

 

* * *

When Joey arrived at Michelle's, the place was kind of deserted. It was open, though—front door propped to let in the breeze, since the place didn't have air conditioning. Joey was warm as it was; he'd walked the whole way. His father wasn't at home, and Alessandro was occupied with surveillance. He'd probably been seen leaving the house (his father had never made an effort to conceal the camera at the front door, though Joey wasn't quite sure where the others were hidden.) Regardless, he didn't anticipate any consequences. He entered the coffee shop, letting his foot fall heavily on the worn-down wooden threshold. It still squeaked, perhaps more than he remembered now that he'd grown taller.

There was a young man at the counter, early twenties with long hair and a shy look. Joey returned his smiled greeting with a nod, frozen in place. The wooden floors were still uncovered except for a couple of large Persian rugs, and the antique fireplace purchased by the owner (Michelle herself) still loomed just past the counter, decorated with the same silver and brass candlesticks that Joey remembered. The four white candles were lit, lending a bit of character to the otherwise plain establishment. The walls, though, had always been Joey's favorite. He was glad to see that the exhibitions hadn't stopped.

Joey wandered over to the nearest wall, eyes narrowed at the painting hanging there. He didn't recognize the artist's name—Angela Pilzner—but she was probably an art major at the community college. Her technique was good—enviable, even. Joey noticed that the other surrounding pieces were hers, too. They weren't very large, canvases no more than an average piece of sketch-paper, but the tableaux were delicate and unique. Washed-out sepia tones for background, almost like mist, so as not to detract from the figures of young, nude girls in random poses. They seemed to suggest spirits or angels, inhuman beings innocent of suggestion. Joey lifted his fingers to touch the brush-stroke hair of one and stopped himself just in time. He'd once been yelled at by a museum security guard, his fingertips no more than a centimeter from a reconstructed Egyptian tomb wall. Feather of Ma'at: he drew it in the air with his fingertip so he'd remember.

"She's good," said the guy at the counter. "She was actually in here the other night to drop off a couple new pieces. Not a bad-looking girl, either."

"Ah." Joey wasn't quite sure what to say, so he wandered across the room to look at the opposite wall. Some dude by the name of Robert Gurney who liked to paint cows and clocks in a bad imitation of Dali. _Ouch_.

"You waiting for somebody?"

Joey turned around to face the young man. "Yeah. You seen anybody?"

The guy shook his head. "Nope. Not a soul since about seven. I think they've all gone out for ice cream."

"I told Michelle last time I was here that you should carry gelato," Joey said. He noticed that the menu boards hadn't changed much, suspended chalkboards written-on in a multitude of pastel shades. He glanced at the tiered rows of syrup bottles and decided he'd order a soda once D. arrived. Too hot for coffee.

"Yeah, we should," the guy agreed, "but we've been in a lull these past couple years. "No funds for expansion."

"I'm sorry," Joey murmured, returning to the artwork.

Sadly, most of it sucked. Only the girl with the appropriate name had talent worth killing for, though the guy at the back who did engravings based on medieval books of hours was perpetually fascinating in his tiny flaws; Joey suspected they were deliberate. After about fifteen minutes, Joey got anxious—D. wasn't showing, and neither was anybody else, not even another solitary soul for him to strike up awkward conversation with. There was the barista, but Joey found him dull, couldn't expect much from a guy who could only call artwork "good" and identify the creator solely by her attractiveness.

Joey frowned at the engraving in front of him, uncertain if the tangle of knotwork in one corner was a serpent or a dragon—

"Boo!"

"Jesus _Christ_ ," Joey swore, taking hold of the hands on his shoulders and throwing them off roughly.

"Still jumpy as fuck," D. said, probably grinning his freckles off.

"You're still an asshole," Joey informed him, shoving his hands in his pockets before turning around. Yep, grinning like an idiot.

D. stuck his tongue out. "You're no fun. Let's order."

Joey let D. ahead of him, stepping back to collect his wits while his old friend frowned at the menu boards. They were still about the same height, though Joey had always been slightly taller, but D. was lankier than he used to be, a wiry kind of strong. Joey had to admit he was mildly envious; even Billy made him remember how he'd hated being so skinny growing up. D. wasn't gorgeous by most people's standards, or even classically handsome, but the spark in his eyes and his wild red hair...yeah. Combine those with his personality, and it had always been enough. He was the first one in the Brigade to get a girlfriend.

"Cappuccino," D. said to the barista. "Large. How about you, Jo?"

"Double espresso," Joey said absently, pretending to scan the specials. "Shot of vanilla, please."

"You're such a girl," D. said, shoving his hands in his pockets. Not exactly teasing, just...mischievous. He'd always been one to push things.

"Says the guy who ordered cappuccino," Joey said. "C'mon, let's sit."

Joey was glad that the old leather couch in the back was still there, too. Some things never changed, and they didn't need to. Joey skirted the antique coffee table and flopped down on one of the sagging cushions, testing it for buoyancy. D. flopped down beside him, considerably harder, and lost his balance, shoving Joey into the arm of the couch.

"Hey, watch it."

"Hey, okay," D. said, actually sounding apologetic. "I get it now, you really stayed serious. Good for you, man. To thine own self and all that."

Joey resettled himself and gave D. an inscrutable look. "I guess. You're still...uh, you."

"You make it sound like a bad thing."

"You've taken obnoxious lessons."

D. looked hurt. "I wasn't always obnoxious?"

Joey grinned and rubbed his forehead. "No, that's not what I meant."

"Then I'm _more_ obnoxious," D. said, rubbing his hands together. "Eeexcellent."

"Trying too hard," Joey muttered under his breath, casting the engravings a sidelong glance.

"Heard that."

In a weird, unexpected way, it was good to be sitting there blushing his face off with Dean Driscoll making asses of them both. The boring guy brought their drinks, and Joey thanked him while D. picked his cappuccino up and took a resounding slurp. Okay, so maybe that was overkill. He was less polished than Joey had always perceived him, though rehearsal was totally different from day-to-day casual shit. In rehearsal, the Brigadiers were professionals. At least at most rehearsals, anyway. It had been ages; Joey couldn't remember how long before his departure for Regis their last meeting had been. What he remembered was D. folding the note into his hand. Not the nights drunk and stoned on second-hand pot smoke, just the goddamn note. Until last night, anyway.

Joey sipped his espresso and stared at the floor.

"I thought for sure you'd get soda," D. said, setting his oversize mug back on the table. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, curiously intimate.

"I had thought about it," Joey said slowly, "but I remembered what Billy said."

"Who's Billy?"

Joey sat back and took another sip of espresso, wondering if he was prepared to handle this. Could D. handle this? Was he even straight, or was he just drunk and confused enough that night after rehearsal to kiss Joey back and forget about it? They'd never mentioned the incident, not even the day after.

"Somebody at your school?" D. pressed, genuinely curious. "What did he say?"

Joey sat forward and placed his cup next to the cappuccino. "Yeah, somebody at Regis," he said. "One of my roommates. I have two, Billy and Phil. I met Billy during summer term after sophomore year," Joey explained, sure to keep eye contact even though his heart was hammering. "We got along great, got to be friends in a hurry. He could take my shit, you know? Nobody can take my shit—not even you or Michael, I don't care what you think."

D. frowned and sat back. "Look, you don't need to get—"

"No, I need to tell you this," Joey said firmly, picking up his espresso. He took a couple of long swallows, then sat back so that he was level with D.'s eyes again. "Do you remember," Joey began hesitantly, "that time after rehearsal, fall of freshman year, when—"

"You couldn't hold your vodka," D. said, cutting him off. Something darker crossed his features, somewhere between fear and regret. "Yeah, I remember."

Joey nodded slowly, swilling his espresso around, staring straight ahead. "I was drunk, but I wasn't fucking with you or anything."

D. leaned forward again, and Joey caught the rapid blinking out of the corner of his eye. "You weren't..."

"The only thing that kept me from doing that sober was inhibitions, okay?" Joey stared into his cup again, stomach tying itself into a small, cold knot.

"You think I'm gonna freak or something?" D. asked, almost a challenge.

"I don't know," Joey admitted, finally looking at him again. "You were always free with certain words beginning with 'f', and I don't mean—"

"I kissed you because I wanted to," D. said, not even bothering to lower his voice. "But I've got a girlfriend, so I don't think this—"

"I'm with Billy," Joey said, then gulped down the last of his espresso. It pooled like warm relief in the pit of his stomach.

"Wow."

"He asked me to drink some coffee for him."

"Before you left school?" D. asked, wearing a faintly dazed expression.

"On the phone this morning," Joey said, quickly averting his eyes again.

"Dude, why the fuck did you let me keep blabbing at you last night?"

Joey set his cup down on the table. "Because I hadn't talked to you in ages, and I want us to play again."

D. grinned, swift and wicked, and slapped Joey on the back. "We didn't call you Soldier Joey for nothing."

"I thought it was the stupid Halloween costume," Joey admitted. He'd been fond of that old military jacket nonetheless.

D. waved his hand in the air, and bygones were instantly bygones. "General Trotta, shall we summon the ranks?"

Joey felt a surge of elation. "Yeah, if they're up for it. You talk to Eric much?"

"All the time," D. said. "You heard from Michael?"

"Not in as long as I haven't heard from you."

"Touché! I'll call them up and won't tell them what the hell this is all about," D. said, already scheming. "A surprise reunion; it'll be brilliant. Are you still writing songs?"

Joey's stomach clenched again. "Not as much," he confessed.

"You always had some shit or another in progress," D. said, patting his shoulder. "Bring whatever you've got."

"Get me a time and a place first?" Joey said, offering him an uncertain smile.

D. picked up his cappuccino and offered it in a one-sided toast. "I promise."

 

* * *

Joey got home around ten and found a note on his bedroom door. Folded neatly in half, taped in place, his father's handwriting. He tore it down and shut his bedroom door loudly enough to be heard. Godfucking _dammit_ , couldn't he do anything without somebody breathing down his neck? Joey kicked his shoes into the corner and sat down at his desk, smoothing the note out flat. He knew he wasn't going to like it, so he might as well get it over with.

_When I asked you if you had any activities in mind, you might have let me know that this evening's outing was one of them. All I ask is that you tell me so that I might get you there safely, Joseph. Any more of this recklessness and I may reconsider my decision regarding the end of the month. Please take greater care._

_Speaking of which, William Tepper called._

No signature—not _Dad_ or even _Your Father_. Just the note and nothing to frame it, all black ink and reprimands. Joey crumbled the paper and dropped it in his waste-paper basket, staring at the poster above his desk. He didn't feel like talking to his father, and strangely enough, he didn't feel like talking to Billy, either. The day before was still too close, too raw, even though he'd more or less resolved things with Dean. Besides, any implied order coming from his father, whether to return Billy's call or something completely irrelevant, wasn't that appealing. His father wasn't one to make threats, though, so maybe something _was_ going on.

Joey pulled his notebook out of his desk and stared at it.

He missed Billy, sure. Wanted him badly enough that the previous morning had happened before he knew what he was doing, too bothered by the strangeness of parting to admit that he needed...what, he didn't know. Phone sex? The idea was so ridiculous that it made him squirm, but Billy's voice discussing even non-suggestive topics had been enough to break him. Slam that up against a bad dream about the past and you get...

Nothing. Joey flipped to the first blank page that he could find, grabbed a pencil out of his canister, and made a mark on it – more for the sake of marring its perfection than anything else. He certainly wasn't inspired, and D.'s challenge was just going to reinforce his writer's block.

He usually needed a melody, a rhythm, _something_ : a ghost of a framework to start. Joey tried to remember the last poem he'd written and wondered if there was anything there, but he quickly concluded that there wasn't. Six syllables to a line was shit; he felt like writing something slow and pensive. For that, you needed iambic pentameter or a damn good impression of it. Joey sketched Shakespeare and put horns on him. To his own self and all that. Sure.

The problem was, he'd been so...he didn't know, _empty_ in his time at Regis before Billy arrived. Joey hadn't known anyone, and he had always been slow to make friends. He found it hard to trust, especially given what he was running from. He didn't want to think about it. Thinking meant demons, and demons meant home. Which was really, really fucking sad, Joey realized. He broke his pencil point thoughtfully, then wrote,

_Back when I started, you bet I was empty  
Running from demons, the place I call home_

"That's dumb," Joey said to Devil-Shakespeare. He ticked off the syllables, then scowled. "Know-it-all." Joey frowned and thought of Billy.

_When you arrived, I was sure you despised me  
Who finds a friend in a guy he can't know?_

"Only we just established you know everything," Joey sighed. He reached for his pencil sharpener, restoring the pencil's point with a few hard, thoughtful twists. An undercurrent was pushing at him now; the verse seemed to carry something with it, maybe a simple guitar-chord base line. He didn't know, but the next verse went,

 _Running from demons, I know I'm mistaken_  
Hiding my heart is the best I can do  
So, when you found me, at worst I was shaken  
You took my hand and it shook me right through

"I hate you," Joey said to the sketch, and listened, and kept writing,

 _Hold on, love, I'm coming_  
Hold on, I'm following you  
Hold on, love, I'm coming  
Coming, coming –

 

* * *

Joey had just finished lunch the next day when he heard the phone ringing upstairs. He almost tripped in his rush to answer, but somehow made it in time.

"Hello?"

“Hey, Joey,” Billy said. There was some odd rustling in the background.

“Hey,” Joey echoed, flopping down on his bed. “You bored already?” He heard more rustling, like stuff being shifted around, and frowned.

“No shit,” Billy said, his laughter barely concealing an obvious crash. “I’m cleaning out my closet. It’s to find an old rocket I made a few years back, but – ”

“But your mom confiscated it?” Joey chewed his lip, grinning.

“No, Sherlock,” Billy said, vaguely irritated, and there was some softer shifting, almost like papers. “I hid it first, but all my shit got stuck in boxes a couple years ago when Mom moved into this new house. It could be anywhere; I gotta look and see.”

“What I meant was, if you can’t find it, maybe she’s taken it,” Joey clarified. “Anyway, aside from the stupid rocket, you doing okay?”

“Besides the rocket? Bored out of my skull, and, uh, missing you…yeah, okay.” Billy sighed, and there was another audible crash.

Joey couldn’t help smirking. “Missing me, huh?”

“Yeah,” Billy said with a grin in his voice, “missing you. There’s nobody around to help me find my random old shit, or fuck me through the mattress.”

Joey swallowed; he hadn’t been expecting such bluntness. “I would organize your old shit, y’know. I don’t think you want that. You’d be too annoyed to let me fuck you.” _I can’t believe I just said that over the phone_.

“At school, yeah, but I don’t want my shit organized _here_ ,” Billy said, shuffling more papers. “There’s a difference.” He paused, quiet for a few seconds. “Damn, I’ve got old notes in here.”

“Really?” Joey sat up, intrigued. “From who?”

“No, class notes,” Billy said dully. “From history.”

Joey realized he’d been holding his breath, then exhaled. “Somehow, I’m relieved.” _Hypocrite_.

“No, Joey,” Billy said, oddly sober, “nobody was sending me MASH notes in junior high.”

“Somebody had to’ve had a crush on you,” Joey said before he could stop himself.

“Well, if anybody did, they didn’t send me MASH notes.”

“They didn’t tell you, either?”

More sounds of paper rustling, then Billy’s voice, absent. “Nope. Not that I remember, anyway. I mean, there were _rumors_ , you know – ‘Jason has a crush on you!’ sort of shit. But if you ever went to whoever, they’d always say no they didn’t, so I just ignored it.”

“There was actually a rumor that a guy had a crush on you?” Joey asked blankly, shifting on the mattress.

“Couple of girls and I _think_ one guy,” Billy said, still unaffected. “But it was…his name was Chauncy, and he swished more than Snuffy.”

Joey settled on his side and stared at the duvet, toying with a loose thread. “I never heard much about crushes, I guess.”

“Your classmates had no taste, then.”

Again, that unexpected boldness. It made Joey blush. “No, I think it was more that they were afraid to say,” Joey sighed. “One girl, but she was in it for…for the thrill, _capisce_? Not so much for me.”

The paper-rustling stopped, followed by Billy’s intake of breath. “I can send something if you want to prank her house.”

“Nah, she’s long gone.”

“Good,” Billy said. “Otherwise, I’d kick her ass.”

Joey gaped at the wall, shaking his head. “Maria Carbone was _never_ worth it, trust me,” he said, emboldened by this new frankness between them. “Last I heard, she was knocked up.”

Billy snorted with laughter. “Gotta love the old neighborhood. How are _you_ doing?”

“Bored,” Joey admitted. “Restless. It’s too hot. Met with Dean last night, might get the rest of the band together. Who knows. Dad can’t decide whether he wants to shoo me out of the house or keep me under lock and key.”

Billy tensed. “He _what_?”

“Yeah,” Joey said, rolling onto his back and flinging up his hand. “One minute he’s all ‘So, what are you going to do with your time?’ and the next he’s like ‘You go out after dusk again and you’re in trouble, young man!’”

“Your father is – ” Billy sounded like he was about to choke. “You’re _sure_ this is a clean line?”

“As far as I know, or I wouldn’t have said that shit about Maria.” Joey felt giddy.

“Your father’s a fucking douchebag, then.”

“Tell me something I _don’t_ know.”

“Uh…” That damn paper-rustling again, more purposeful. “The Greeks believed in three kinds of love?”

Joey shook his head and _tsk_ ed. “Knew that, but I’ll bite.”

“Philos, eros, and agape,” Billy said, way too formal. He was reading.

“Is this why you saved those notes? To impress your eventual significant other?”

“Hey, you never know when old shit might be useful,” Billy said proudly. “I even remember what the words _mean_.”

“I’m in complete shock,” Joey responded, deadpan. He hadn’t realized phone calls could be fun.

“Ahem, _which_ of us studied Latin? You’re ruining my Classics buzz.” Billy sounded so improbably gay that Joey almost cracked up.

“Jesus, then buzz,” Joey choked, waving his hand at the ceiling. “By all means!”

“Right, then,” Billy said, all business again. “First was ‘philos,’ which is friendship, or brotherly love.”

“Which Snuffy needs a crash course in,” Joey said.

“No shit. Snuffy’s more into ‘eros,’ which is supposedly romantic love, but mostly it’s just sex.”

“I repeat: Something that Snuffy needs a crash course in.”

“Like he’d listen to the teacher,” Billy scoffed.

“I’d _pity_ the teacher,” Joey said honestly.

Joey heard movement of a different kind, probably Billy getting up to go sit on the bed. “In order for there to be a teacher, there’d have to be someone willing to date Mr. Bradberry, which there isn’t.”

“Would Hank do? He’s at least willing to sleep with him,” Joey pointed out. “Occasionally.”

“Not unless he’s got a lot more idea how to handle a relationship than I think he does.”

Joey grinned. “Because we just have it all figured out, huh?”

“Well, see, we’ve got the third kind going for us. Plus, we’re just cooler than they are,” Billy said authoritatively.

“How academic of you.”

“I was _trying_ to be romantic,” Billy said in that last-resort, aw-shucks tone of his, and Joey thought he might melt. “Third kind of love is ‘agape,’ which is soul-love. Helluva lot more than bodies or, well, whatever ‘philos’ needs. Not that you don’t have a gorgeous body.”

Joey flushed and squirmed. “Not that you don’t, either,” he said, instinctively lowering his voice. “Why isn’t there a fourth, like…I don’t know, a combination?”

“There’s none my history teacher mentioned,” Billy said, flipping pages. “At least not that I wrote down.”

“I know,” Joey said, frustrated, feeling too warm despite the air conditioning. “It just seems impractical that there isn’t.”

“We can make one up,” Billy suggested, his tone seductive.

 _Oh, God, this can’t be happening_. Joey drew in his breath and said, “That’s an interesting suggestion, even for you.”

“What, making shit up? Only difference is that it’s not in English,” Billy countered innocently.

“I guess so,” Joey said, reluctant, starting to relax again. _You fucking chicken – you won’t have to hide it this time!_ “Except I don’t understand Greek, and I don’t think you really do, either.”

“Like that matters?” Billy asked, shifting, and the rustle this time definitely wasn’t papers. “Not like I can…give you a demonstration.”

 _Asshole_. “A demonstration of what, exactly?” Joey retorted. “Each of the three? Billy Tepper does Masterpiece Theater?”

“More like Billy Tepper does Joey Trotta, moron.”

Joey swallowed hard and said, “Then maybe you meant you miss fucking _me_ through the mattress.” Might as well raise the stakes.

“Maybe I just don’t give a fuck who fucks _who_ through the mattress,” Billy said, daring him, “so long as you’re here and naked.”

Joey swore under his breath, pushing his pajama pants down around his hips. “Unfortunately,” he said, still trying for nonchalant, “I’m definitely not there and definitely not naked.”

“You can fix part of that.”

 _Fucking know-it-all_. “You want me to get naked?” Joey asked, uncertain. “You can’t see me, last time I checked.”

“So?” Billy said. “I can _listen_ to you.”

“Listen to me get undressed?” Joey wasn’t ready to give in, not yet, no matter what Billy knew or didn’t. “I’ll have to put the phone down, and I don’t think you’ll hear much.” Joey shimmied his pants down the rest of the way and slid them off soundlessly.

“No, the point isn’t to be noisy,” Billy said, entirely too patient, “unless you want to do phone sex. The real point is, you’d be naked, and I’d know you were naked, and I’ve got a good imagination.”

Joey rolled his eyes; there went his brilliant plan. “Phone sex. You’re joking, right?”

“Not if I could figure out a way that didn’t feel stupid,” Billy said, painfully honest.

At that, Joey was so relieved that he almost confessed then and there. Instead, finding his voice uncooperative, he said, “You been thinking about this more than is necessary?”

Billy made a frustrated noise, and suddenly Joey wished he could touch him. “It doesn’t take that long to figure out that phone sex – actually doing it, I mean – feels pretty stupid. I thought about it, anyway, but since I can’t manage to say ‘I want to suck your cock’ and not feel like I’m – ”

“You just said it,” Joey said hoarsely, kicking out of his boxers in a hurry, so hard he was already leaking. _Breathe, oh God, just_ …

“Talking about it doesn’t count,” Billy said, discouraged. “You, um…want me to try again?”

“Knock yourself out,” Joey said through clenched teeth. He fisted his hand in the bedspread, couldn’t let himself touch…not _yet_ …

“Not without running into a wall,” Billy said softly. “You naked?”

“Almost. Down to just my shirt.”

“That works,” Billy said. “I’m in just boxers, in case you wanted a visual.”

“Already had one,” Joey admitted, restlessly shifting his hips. Fucking torture, that’s what it was.

“Hey,” Billy said, lowering his voice flirtatiously. “I can take them off, if you want.”

“Please.”

“Which ones were you wearing?”

“Um…” Joey glanced at the foot of the bed. “Plain blue ones. You?”

“Tasmanian Devil. Wasn’t expecting to be trying to seduce you over the phone. Take your shirt off.”

Joey struggled out of his tee, unwilling to let go of the receiver. “Funny, I was under the impression that you were.”

“If I’d planned it, I’d have a script, or at least notes that aren’t from junior high history.”

“So…that part _was_ impromptu?” Joey asked, gliding his fingers across his stomach.

“Yup. Just me and the Greeks. And imagining you naked.”

Joey swallowed a moan and rolled over onto his stomach. “The academic thing – you did that just so I’d listen.”

“Nah,” Billy murmured. “Just trying to be subtle, ease into nibbling on your neck—long-distance, I mean—maybe.”

“Yeah?” Joey asked, almost breathless. “Which side?” The duvet was soft and ticklish against him, more torture.

“Left,” Billy said. “Promise I’ll leave your earring alone, though.”

“It’s not there,” Joey said, fingering his sore earlobe. Excellent, that was distraction.

“Got it safe?”

“If you call ‘on the dresser’ safe. Started hurting last night, so I took it out.”

“Shit, Joey…” Billy sighed, concerned. “No ear-sucking, then.”

“Who says you can’t suck the other one?”

“I thought I was still nibbling on your neck. Could work my way over to the other side, though, if you want.”

Joey was instantly sullen, never mind that he was minutes away from ruining the duvet. “What I want is you here.”

“Hey,” Billy said gently. “Two weeks and you’ll be _here_ , then I can do a lot more than nibble on your neck over the fucking phone.”

“So, I’m impatient. _Kiss_ me over the fucking phone.”

Billy laughed, and Joey heard him blow a kiss.

“Phone caught it first,” Joey said, and blew one back anyway. Billy could be so fucking sweet sometimes.

“Soon as I master the art of actually kissing you through the phone lines…” Billy’s voice was hushed, almost a whisper. “I’m fucking tired of waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” Joey asked. “Me to nibble _your_ neck, or maybe you just want me to skip elsewhere?”

“Waiting for you,” Billy said, voice tight. “For being able to just reach out and touch you without faking myself out. For being able to look up and meet your eyes because something just happened that you’d think was funny. Kissing you, licking you – fuck, your mouth wherever you fucking want to put it.”

Joey hid his face in the covers, grinning helplessly. “I want to put it on your chest because you like that, and don’t pretend you don’t.”

“Yeah,” Billy managed with a weak laugh, “so I’m way too sensitive there.”

“Mmmm.”

“Says the guy who jumps if I even put my hand on his back.”

“Yeah,” Joey said, “but I usually jump onto you or something, so doesn’t that make up for it?” Time to roll back over while he was still sane enough to be thinking about laundry.

“Not often enough,” Billy muttered. “So,” he said, louder now, “next time I’ll give you a backrub over the phone.”

Joey brushed his fingers over himself and shivered, letting his eyes slide shut. “What part of ‘I’m basically in your lap now’ didn’t you understand?”

“The part that actually involved spelling it out,” Billy said, gasping not quite out of the receiver’s range. “Naked and in my lap…Jesus _fuck_ I want to kiss you now.”

Joey gritted his teeth, slowly stroking himself. “I see that subtlety is not necessarily effective here.”

“Nope. Didn’t you ever call one of those hotlines when you were a kid and curious?”

“No. Too afraid of getting caught.”

“Sometime, I’m gonna set up a call so you can see…no subtlety at all. Lots of description, though,” Billy said, voice low again, a hint if Joey ever heard one.

“What, a video conference call or something? Can I get back to being naked in your lap and kissing you?” Joey braced his feet against the mattress, picking up his pace a little.

“No,” Billy said, exasperated, “just describing what they’re doing – fuck it, I’ll set something up when we get back to school. Naked, lap, kissing, hands on your back…uh, you knew that I’m hard, right?”

Joey’s stomach clenched with pleasure. “I would be stupid if I didn’t,” he said, “and the point of getting in your lap was also making the point that I am, too…um…” _Jesus, that was bad_.

Billy chuckled, and the sound wreaked havoc on Joey’s even rhythm. “You think way too much sometimes, Joey.”

“What’s wrong with thinking about being hard and pressed up against you?” Joey asked, summoning as much innocence as he could. Hell, he’d take plain coherence, at this point.

“Lack of movement,” Billy said, and Joey cursed the rustling for being so indistinct. “Because if you’re hard and pressed up against me, we’re not sitting still.”

“Maybe we are for just a minute,” Joey said quietly, stilling his hand. “So I can feel you like that.”

Billy groaned – right into the receiver, like he didn’t care anymore if there was the slim chance of bugging or not. “A minute. Right,” he panted. “And then I’m pushing up against you.”

Joey’s grip on his cock tightened involuntarily before he got control of his fingers again, desperately trying to find his old pace. “And, um,” he said with difficulty, “I’m pushing back.”

“Good. And moving, I hope, because I am…and kissing you…hands on your hips…”

“Yes, asshole,” Joey said, almost a whisper, “moving _with_ you, and your hands had better not stray too far.” He let go of the phone and turned his head so that it was trapped between his cheek and the pillow, then wound his fingers in the pillowcase. “Maybe up my back, though, since that has good results.”

Billy choked, but it resolved itself into laughter. “Scientific experiment: Where should my hands go, hips or back? Whatever gets you…God, _Joey_ …”

Joey could hear him moving now, without a doubt, and imagine it all too clearly. He took a deep, shaky breath and said, “You get me.”

“Soon…”

“Yeah. Soon.

“And in the meantime,” Billy murmured, his breathing out of control, “fuck…this is a lot easier when I’ve got you here.”

Joey gave himself a hard stroke, one firm twist up. “I know,” he gasped. “You…are you, um…” Back down again, feathery stroke of the fingers. Gentle. Like –

“Close?” Billy was grinning; he could hear it.

Joey let out an exasperated breath, working his hand fast and hard again. “ _Yes_.”

“Yes…you’re close, too,” Billy said, no more than a whisper. Definitely not a question.

“Mhm.” Joey squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his mouth against the phone as he twisted, panting, through the last few strokes. “Billy…missyou…”

“Miss you…too… _ohgod_.”

Joey wasn’t sure what he sobbed into the phone, but it probably wasn’t a word or even Billy’s name, just _something_ for how fucking hard he was coming and shaking, so good it hurt. His head felt like it was ringing, kind of like the vodka-haze, sounds blurring.

“Mmm?” Billy. That was Billy.

Joey opened his eyes wide, gasping and panting at the ceiling. “Say you’re holding me.”

Billy took a startled breath, then whispered, “I’m holding you. Tight as I can.”

“You too.” Joey wasn’t sure that made sense, but he wasn’t sure if he _could_ make sense.

“Mmm.” Billy paused, and for a minute, Joey thought he could hear his heartbeat. “You know, this is the part that sucks the most. I mean, it sucks not to be able to kiss you, but it really sucks that I can’t hold you afterward.”

“You could teach Snuffy that class,” Joey said, unable to think of anything else.

“First we have to convince him that he _wants_ to learn the Theory of Greek Love,” Billy said patiently, “and then get him to stop laughing.”

Joey closed his eyes and took hold of the phone again, deep breaths: in and out, in and out. “And then explain that it’s theory only, because I’ll tie him up and leave him in the basement if he thinks you’re going to practice with him.”

A different noise in the background, sharp and jarring. “Shit, knock at my door…hang on a second…”

Joey bit the inside of his cheek, heart still racing. “Fuck.”

A few seconds later, Billy said, “Are you still there?”

“Y – ”

“S’okay. Just Mom checking to make sure I’m still here. Asking after my cleaning, fun stuff.”

“Who the hell cares? Come back to bed.” _Jesus, I sound like I’m whining_.

Billy laughed softly. “I am.”

“I know,” Joey sighed.

“Two weeks,” Billy said, determined. “Then we won’t have to get _out_ of bed.”

“Yes we will,” Joey said. “I thought you wanted sex on the beach.”

“Oh, yeah,” Billy said, sounding wistful. “Mom’s gonna be back in a bit, and I can’t let her find…uh…this,” he finished hastily. “Call you tomorrow?”

Joey smiled the way he did when he wanted only Billy to notice. “Yeah, sure.”

“Right,” Billy said, voice catching. “Love you.”

“L – ” _You too_ , Joey thought, sticky hand clutched over his heart as the call clicked dead.

 

* * *

_Back when we started, you bet I was angry_  
Couldn't make sense of this, couldn't make sense of us  
All that you had to do was understand me  
That's what you did, and that was enough

Joey silenced the guitar strings with the flat of his hand and shrugged. "That's all I've got so far," he confessed. "I think a second piece of verse, though, like in the first part, and then the chorus repeats a couple times...maybe altered on the third and last."

"Dude, I wish you hadn't gone," D. said, lighting his cigarette. "D'you realize how much better your ear is?"

Joey unslung his guitar and set it on the chair, then sat down on the carpet. "What do you mean?"

D. waved a trail of smoke vaguely in front of himself. "You match words to melody better than most hacks our age," he said, offering the cigarette to Joey.

"Pass," Joey said, pushing it away. "Too much of that lately. But seriously, you think we're hacks?"

"Not really," D. said, picking up his Coke, "but let's face it, we were amateurs then and we're amateurs now. Fuck, we're not even _us_ now."

"Lighten up, the others aren't here yet." Joey swilled his Dr. Pepper around contemplatively. He'd always been sure they were decent, if not good.

"Michael should be getting here soon," D. said, trying unsuccessfully to blow a smoke ring. "Eric said he might be late."

"What else is new," Joey said, setting his can down on the floor. He glanced around the room, noticing the new paneling. Other than that, not much had changed. Same old carpet, same old couch. The only thing missing was the smell of pot and the sound of Michael and Eric bickering. Not unlike Snuffy and Hank, come to think of it, only he was sure Michael and Eric never had a thing. He smiled at the thought: yes, some things simply stayed true.

"Why don't you tell me?" D. suggested, tapping some ash into the can, which was hopefully empty. "Any other songs?"

Joey frowned and took a sip of his soda. "Well, there's this one about the War, but everybody writes songs about war."

"I'm sure yours is at least intelligent," D. said, intrigued. "What's it called?"

"'The Lamps of Al-Kadhima,'" Joey said, making another face. Nobody knew what the hell al-Kadhima was unless they paid attention to the news, and not everybody did. Especially not everybody at Regis.

D. wagged his finger at the floor excitedly, like he was trying to remember something. "Oh, oh, _yeah_ , that was—when they took over Kuwait City—"

"Yeah," Joey said, impressed. "The Iraqis renamed it. All I could think was, it's such a beautiful word, but it's an imposition..."

"I wonder what it means."

"Me too," Joey confessed. "I asked some teachers, but none of them knew. We don't exactly have an Eastern Studies department."

D. grinned and shoved the rest of his cigarette into the can, rattling it before he set it down. "So, you stir up some controversy with it? Concerts in the student lounge?"

"Nope," Joey said. "I've only played for a few close friends."

"You probably got a lot of big-shots' kids up there, huh? Bet you could piss off somebody in the government." D. sounded almost envious.

"Actually, remember Snuffy, the guy I told you about on the phone? His last name's Bradberry," Joey said, pausing. _Here it comes_...

D.'s eyes went wider than Joey had ever seen them. "As in Stephen _Warhawk_ Bradberry? Republican party vice prez, are you _shitting_ me?"

"No, I am not shitting you," Joey said, reaching for his guitar. "And his buddy Hank, I think I told you about him, too—you happen to know who's in charge of the Armed Services Committee?"

"D.C. brats," D. groaned. "Ugh. So, did you try to piss them off?"

"Snuffy's a liberal for the sole _purpose_ of pissing his dad off," Joey said, grinning. "Or at least that's what I thought before I really got to know him."

"Dude, you gotta play this song." D. lit up a second cigarette, eyes eager.

"What did you think I was doing, holding this thing for show?" Joey retrieved his pick from the edge of the chair and plucked a few strings, tuning them back up. The instrument was old; he'd been contemplating a new one for a while. Getting one would be so easy, though, that he almost wanted to relish the unvoiced thought while yet he could. A challenge that wasn't really a challenge. Joey launched into the introduction without looking up. Just a few bars, then he sang,

_Fields are blazing, see the lights_   
_The lamps of al-Kadhima_   
_Sand is flaming, set your sights_   
_And march on al-Kadhima_

_This is right, yes, this is war_   
_It must be, if we're fighting for_   
_the hundreds who are dying there,_   
_against those who without a care_   
_brought Hell upon them all_   
_And I'm not sure, but I've been told_   
_the desert night is chill and cold_   
_until the riggings fall, yes,_   
_until the riggings fall_

_Fields are blazing, see the lights_   
_The lamps of al-Kadhima_   
_Sand is flaming, set your sights_   
_And march on al-Kadhima_

_I hear the stories, month by month,_   
_of faded eyes and shattered trust_   
_Those that suffer are our own_   
_The cost is great; we should have known_   
_there's nothing left but pain_   
_And I'm not sure, but what I've heard_   
_is just enough to keep me scared_   
_that Hell might come again, yes,_   
_Hell might come again_

_Fields are blazing, see the lights_   
_The lamps of al-Kadhima_   
_Sand is flaming, set your sights_   
_And march on al-Kadhima_

_Hearts are blazing, see the lights_   
_The lamps of al-Kadhima_   
_Breath is fading, set your sights_   
_And pray for al-Kadhima_

Perhaps more than the others he'd written, Joey considered it a song to get lost in, a world that didn't deserve to remain alien. In many ways, it didn't: conflict could happen anywhere, and it just so happened that this particular skirmish was where it was. Could've been his own backyard just as easily. He supposed that maybe he had some kind of twisted advantage, growing up as close to danger as he had, and when it came down to it, the true definition of war was—

Joey cut the postlude short, startled into silence by unexpected applause.

"I heard you from outside," Michael said, grinning from the top of the stairs. "You idiots left the window open."

Joey almost dropped his guitar. "You would've, too, if your A/C was busted," Joey called back. "Go complain to D.'s old man, we're trying to make music here!"

"You still suck," Michael said, dragging his string bass noisily down the stairs. "We're gonna do that number over, and I'm gonna show you what it's missing."

"It's not missing anything, assmunch," D. said, standing up to go help him. "What the fuck is this, anyway? You're late."

Michael flipped D. off as they settled the unwieldy case onto the couch. "My sister was out with the fucking car! Gimme a break! Sorry, Jo," he said over his shoulder. "D.'s gone on to get his Ph.D. in the art of being an asshole, in case you haven't noticed."

"Don't know how I missed it," Joey said, trying not to laugh as he got up to sit in the chair again. _I think I recognize you least of all_.

"I don't know, either," somebody shouted down the stairs, "but I can tell from here, and I can't even _see_ you jerks." Eric came hurtling down like the devil was at his heels, panting madly. He looked like he'd just fallen off the couch after a long round of Nintendo and thrown on whatever was handy. "Yo, Jo!"

"Hey," Joey said, waving. He watched Eric attempt to make off with Michael's bow, but Michael snatched it away in time, handing it off to D. The ensuing scuffle resulted in little more than Eric being bypassed a few more times, red-faced and insulted. Joey noticed a set of drumsticks protruding carelessly from his back pocket.

"You idiots, cut it out," D. said loudly, grabbing the drumsticks. He hit Eric over the head with them a few times, then shoved them into the drummer's hands. "Are we gonna play, or what?" He glanced at Joey, desperate. Could he really not keep...

"Ten- _hut_ ," Joey said sharply. "Well, are we?"

Michael walked the bass over to the drum set, situating himself just the way he always had. "You bet, soldier."

D. grinned at Joey and went to drag the keyboard out of the far corner—it was dusty, hadn't seen use in a while. Joey plucked his strings over anxiously, tuning to no effect, and thought: the real definition of war was, what things _did_ change, there was really no stopping them, and you just had to adapt before they swallowed you whole.

 

* * *

Joey shoved the lever down as hard as he could, then rubbed his eyes and glared into the toaster. Stupid fucking piece of junk. It wasn’t supposed to take this long, and he was on his second try. He turned around and leaned against the counter. Joey blinked at the calendar on the wall until the spots cleared. _Friday, June 21_. He had circled the date in red pen the week he got home.

Rosemary bustled into the kitchen, wearing a startled expression. "Oh, good morning! Why don’t you go sit in the dining room? I’ll take care of it. Didn’t know you were up..."

Joey glanced at the toaster, then back at Rosemary. "It’s okay. Really."

"Nonsense," Rosemary said, already busy in a cupboard. "You have a long trip ahead of you today."

"Just a few hours," Joey said, irritated, but it was mostly because he’d be stuck in the car with Alessandro, who bugged him beyond words. "No big deal."

Rosemary set a stack of small plates down on the counter, glancing up at the clock. "It’s nine, and your father told me that you’re to be leaving in an hour," she said, mildly chiding. "You’ll be rather hungry by noontime. You need more than toast."

"No, I don’t," Joey insisted. "I’ll be fine."

Rosemary sighed, opening another cupboard to pull down a pair of mugs. "Your father’s waiting for you in the dining room."

 _Fucking asshole_. Joey left the kitchen without a word and wandered into the dining room. His father was sitting at the head of the table as usual, dressed and immaculate. Joey pulled out the seat caddy-corner and glared at his place mat. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Joseph," his father said, and his tone was more tired than Joey had heard it in a long time. "Did you sleep well?"  
"Great," Joey said, looking up. He’d written half the night away, but that was beside the point: Albert’s eyes seemed to indicate either a severe hangover or a severe something else. "You?"

"I’m afraid that plans have changed," Albert said, carefully averting his eyes.

Joey’s stomach clenched with cold, fierce anger. "I haven’t _done_ —"

"No," his father sighed heavily, "you haven’t done anything. You’re still going to Connecticut. It’s how you’re going that’s changed."

Joey blinked, stupefied. "Did Alessandro get smashed last night? Ask Carl to drive."

Albert nodded slowly. "Carl will, in fact, be driving you," he said. "To the bus station."

Joey sat back in his chair and fought the impulse to rub his eyes again. Could he really be so lucky? "Okay, so I’ll need—" _Wait, if Alessandro’s not –_

"What happened?" Joey demanded, cold with anger again.

His father put up both hands before lowering them to the table, touching the wood-grain with firm fingertips. "Nothing has happened," Albert said steadily. "I’m simply in need of his services."

"Carl’s a careless driver." Joey returned to staring at his place mat. Something was _up_.

Albert took a deep breath. "Carl will only be seeing you as far as the bus terminal, Joseph. And yes, you will need a ticket. I’ve purchased you one." Whisper of cloth on paper, then something being slid across the table. It collided with Joey’s place mat.

Joey looked up at his father, incredulous. Fuck whatever was up, why couldn’t he _lighten_ up? This meant some fucking freedom for once. "You’re letting me do this?"

"It’s an express bus out of Penn Station. Leaves just after noon. You should have plenty of time."

Rosemary walked into the room and set a steaming mug in front of each of them, then left again.

"I guess so," Joey said, wrapping his hands around his mug. "I’ll have to call Billy and tell him—"

"You’re not to leave the station," Albert said, stern. "And you must promise me that someone will be there to meet you in New Haven."

"I’m sure they’ll be able to—"

"I need you to call and find out now, or else I can’t send you."

"Be right back." Joey stood up, almost knocking his chair over, and didn’t glance over his shoulder as he left the room.

Joey tripped up the stairs, swearing under his breath. He dashed into his room and grabbed the phone, almost knocking the whole thing off his desk. Dialing furiously, he took a moment to catch his breath.

"Hello, this is—"

"Hello. Can I talk to Billy?"

Barbara paused for a second, startled, then seemed to recover herself. "Certainly, one moment."

Joey beat his fist against the desk, heart hammering. _Be awake, dammit, please be_ —

"Joey?" Billy sounded like he’d barely given thought to breakfast.

Joey collapsed in his chair, shaking. "Houston, we have a problem."

 

* * *

_Hit-man. Alessandro is a hit-man._

Joey thought it to himself over and over again, meaninglessly, and watched the familiar scenery go by outside his glazed window. Of _course_ Alessandro was a hit-man. Hell, Carl was probably a hit-man, too; whoever heard of a guy getting a position that close to the Don without proving himself?

_Something’s up._

Leaning forward, Joey yanked the mini-fridge open just in time for the car to catch a curve, and a few glass bottles flew out and rolled across the floor to his feet. He swore and gathered them up, shoving them back in the fridge, and slammed it shut again. Forget that. He’d just end up being sick.

"Everything all right back there?" Carl barely managed to make himself heard through the glass.

"Yeah," Joey called back. "Dropped shit."

"It happens."

Joey slumped back in his seat and tugged on his shorts, miserable. He wasn’t going to be able to think about anything else for the whole goddamn trip so long as he knew something was going down, even though he didn’t necessarily want to know what that something was. All that he knew was that someone was probably going to die, or at least get hurt, and he was powerless to prevent it.

They reached the city without further incident—as opposed to nauseous, Joey was just queasy, so he’d count himself lucky. Carl wasn’t as good a driver as Alessandro, but he was more personable, and once outside the car, Joey felt like he could at least breathe again. He’d finished packing in a hurry, and his suitcase was probably too heavy, shit crammed in without much room for order. He’d kept the call with Billy short and rushed back downstairs, promising his father someone would be there.

Carl grunted as he trailed along behind Joey with the suitcase. "Long trip."

"Yeah, two whole weeks," Joey said absently, clutching his guitar case, cutting through the crowd and scanning signs. They weren’t that far from his terminal. He hated the closed, tunnel-like feeling of the place.

Carl shuffled to catch up. "Got plans?"

"Beach. Swimming. Night life. Whatever."

"Sounds cool," Carl said.

"Yeah," Joey agreed, turning when an overhead sign said to.

There was already a small line forming behind the standing rope barriers. Joey told Carl to put his stuff up against the wall at the end of the line. Once the suitcase was down, Joey parked himself on top of it and said, "Well, that’s that. Have a nice drive back."

Carl glanced over his shoulder, then back to Joey. "Thought I’d hang around till you left, give you somebody to talk to. Ain’t nobody you know around here."

Joey folded his arms across his chest. "The bus leaves in ten minutes."

Carl stepped out of the way of a woman trying to pass with a stroller, then moved closer to Joey even though a few other people had already lined up behind him. "That’s not so long."

"No, it’s not," Joey agreed nervously. _What the fuck is going on?_

Carl shrugged, then turned his back on Joey, presumably eyeing the passers-by.

 _Shit_ , Joey thought. _We’ve been followed._

Suddenly, everything made a lot of terrible sense. Somebody was riding his father’s tail, riding it _hard_. As for who? Who fucking knew. Local law enforcement, a rival, the Feds...made no fucking difference. If his dad was being followed, then chances were, so was he. Carl was supposed to keep an eye on him until he was safely on the bus. Joey leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and closed his eyes. Whoever it was would know he was going to Connecticut. Unless –

"Gate 27 express service to New Haven, now boarding."

Joey jumped off his luggage, startled, and picked it up mechanically. The line was moving forward.

Carl turned around and looked at him, then saluted with a forced smile. "Safe trip yourself."

"Yeah," Joey said, nodding, then looked straight ahead. Balding dude with a shoulder bag.

Even after his luggage was stowed and he was on the bus, Joey could see inside the terminal. Carl was there, watching and hovering. Maybe whoever-it-was would stay away. Maybe Billy would be safe. Joey opened his backpack and fished around for his notebook, then had to dig the whole way to the bottom for a pencil. Shit, the point was broken. He rummaged some more until he found a pen.

He didn’t feel halfway comfortable until the bus had wormed its way out of the labyrinthine station. On any given day, the streets of New York were an inspiring sight—any kind of person you could wish for, any kind of scenario you were too lazy to dream up. Instead, Joey listened to the cacaphonous lunch-hour traffic and started to draw. Things would get better once they were on the highway.

The trip felt longer than it was supposed to, one boring suburban skyline after another. Joey filled three whole pages with nonsense—mostly caricatures of the people he hadn’t looked at—then put his notebook and pen away and curled up in his seat. The feel of glass against his cheek reminded him of being five years old in the backseat of the car, eyes barely above the line of where the car door ended and the window began. If the signs were to be trusted, they were close.

Joey closed his eyes and thought about anything but home.

 

* * *

"Red Toronado," Billy had said. "Nothing special. It gets me around."

Joey stood on the curb, leaning on his guitar case. As far as he could tell, there wasn’t anybody lurking in the corners of the station or in a suspicious-looking car in the parking lot, so Carl had probably thrown them off back in New York. So far, Joey couldn’t see a red Toronado, or even a red car of another make. Good thing he didn’t have some kind of mobile phone.

The blare of a car-horn startled him, and a small, indistinctly reddish two-door pulled up in front of him.

Billy had to lean over to roll the driver’s side window down, tongue stuck between his teeth. "I told you it was nothing special."

Joey was so relieved that he couldn’t think of anything to say. Instead, he just grinned at Billy and pointed to the trunk, gesturing for him to pop it. "I hope there’s room back there."

"Looks," Billy said, jamming the stick-shift into park, "can be deceiving."

They struggled Joey’s stuff into the trunk, then stood there for a second, blinking at each other. "God, I’ve got shit to tell you," Joey said without thinking.

"I figured," Billy said, pulling the keys back out of his pocket. "Get in."

"Can’t believe I’m riding with you," Joey said under his breath, glancing from side to side. They were at the parking lot exit, and Billy at least seemed to be paying attention to what he was doing. He flipped the turn signal on and turned left as soon as the coast was clear.

"I’m not a bad driver," Billy said, mildly defensive.

"Didn’t say you were," Joey said, reaching over to touch the back of Billy’s hand. "Just, I can’t believe it."

"Yeah," Billy said quietly, turning his hand under Joey’s to clasp it. "I know."

Billy wasted a little time by driving through part of the Yale campus, pointing out this, that, and the other thing. That gray stone church on the corner, Joey remembered it from Christmastime. Aside from that, the pseudo-Gothic architecture was almost laughable. Harvard at least looked lived-in. Billy just grinned, then did an impressive three-point turn in the parking lot and got them out of there.

Barbara’s place was actually on the outskirts of town, in one of those housing developments that cost way too much for sane people to live in. Joey remembered lying awake his first night there back in December, one ear close to Billy’s heartbeat and the other catching the sound of carols, probably a party, at the next house over. Billy couldn’t tell him the names of the neighbors because he wasn’t there enough to know. Billy pulled into the driveway and hit the garage door opener on his visor.

"Home, sweet home."

"Yeah, ri—aaaah!" Joey clutched the door handle as the back wall of the garage rushed up way too fast for his liking. "Dickhead!"

Billy jammed the car into park, smirking. "I’ve been wanting to hear you say that."

"What a relief," Joey muttered, squeezing the door handle. He put all his strength behind shoving it open, but Billy caught him by the shoulder and turned him.

"Joey," he whispered, then cupped Joey’s cheek and kissed him.

Okay, so it wasn’t time to think about what an asshole Billy could be about yanking his chain; Billy was saying he was sorry, and Joey decided he could accept that. And oh, God, Billy tasted good. Smelled good, too, like some kind of aftershave that probably belonged to his dad, because Billy never bothered with shit like that at Regis. Joey steadied himself, one palm flat against the seat, the other arm around Billy’s neck, fingers in his hair. Damp, he just showered before leaving the house. Joey leaned forward as far as he could, trying to let Billy hold him. It wasn’t working too well.

"Billy," he gasped when they broke for a breath, "if your mom...."

"She’s not home," Billy said, then started kissing Joey again.

 _Okay_. Somewhere under the hormones and the urgency of kissing Billy, Joey realized he’d never made out in a car. Well, actually, before Billy, he’d never really made out at all. Bed, desk, guys’ bathroom, bell tower, cellar, but never in a car. If the fucking steering wheel wasn’t in the way, he’d crawl over there and reach down to crank the seat back. Billy, in Billy’s car. Damn.

"Needt’gointh’house," Joey managed, garbled against Billy’s neck.

"Yeah," Billy agreed, breathless huff against Joey’s cheek. " _Yeah_."

Joey pulled away and stared out the window for a couple of seconds, breathing hard. The space beside them in the dimness was empty, arguing for the validity of Billy’s claim. Barbara not home. Jesus. Now he wanted Billy on the couch or the kitchen counter or wherever else was off-limits.

"Let’s get your stuff inside." Billy was out of the car before Joey could turn and reach for him.

The house was as immaculate as Joey remembered it, and the trip up the stairs, through the entryway, into the kitchen, and down the back hall seemed to take forever. He hefted his guitar case and sighed, waiting for Billy to get his bedroom door open and hit the lights. Two steps inside, one second to drop the instrument beside his suitcase where Billy had set it. One second to reach for the door, then another, thwarted by Billy with the same idea. He slammed it and turned the lock, then grabbed Joey by the shoulders again and pulled him over to the bed. Close, thank God. _So_ close.

He landed more or less on top of Billy, who was flat on his back and looking up at Joey with this silly you’re-here-you’re-really-here elated grin. This position had possibilities that didn’t take much thinking about. Joey squirmed to cover Billy and pushed against him, attacking Billy’s neck. He’d been interrupted, dammit. The car was fun, but this was comfortable with space to spare.

Billy moaned and wrapped his arms tight around Joey, quick as a flytrap. "Fuck, I _missed_ you."

"You too," Joey whispered, then bit Billy’s collarbone. He sucked hard enough to draw up blood; let the world see. _His_ , his and no one else’s. Joey licked the spot gently.

Billy laughed, rumble of his belly against Joey’s. "That won’t make it go away."

"I don’t want it to." Joey rested there, shivering as Billy slid his hands under his shirt.

"Mm." Billy rubbed his back, more massage than caress, and the hurry was gone for a moment.

Joey lifted his head and looked at Billy, guilty that he hadn’t really, well, just _looked_ in forever. Billy needed a haircut—no, scratch that, Billy _always_ needed a haircut. Joey ran his fingers through Billy’s curls and his forehead creased, another soft sound of pleasure caught in his throat. Joey kissed Billy’s eyes closed and thought, _I would never have looked at someone like him just a few years ago_. Joey kissed his cheek, then nuzzled down to his jaw, another gentle bite. Billy’s fingers tightened on Joey’s ribs, and Joey wriggled against the strong body under him. _That, though, I would have looked at_.

"You get in the weirdest moods," Billy said, but he didn’t sound annoyed. Just thoughtful.

Joey looked up, shrugging. "I like looking at you?"

Billy laughed and thrust up against him. "Do you?"

Joey squeezed his eyes shut and ducked his head to Billy’s shoulder. _God, yes_.

Billy slid his hands down to Joey’s hips, then caught the hem of his shirt. "You’re overdressed."

"Then fix it," Joey said, smirking, and rolled off him.

Bratty thing to do, yeah, but worth it. Joey kept his eyes closed while Billy untied his shoes, making sounds of mock-disapproval before dropping them on the floor one at a time. Socks peeled off in a hurry, then the sound of Billy swearing and kicking off his sneakers, then warm, warm Billy over him, tugging Joey’s shirt up from the waist. Joey twisted, trapped with the damn thing caught at his elbows and over his head, and Billy fell away laughing.

"Dammit." Joey sat up and threw the shirt off, then glared at Billy. "Whatever happened to efficient?"

"I like detours better," Billy confessed, halfway out of his t-shirt. Jesus, he’d gotten some sun.

Joey reached out and touched his chest—just there, right over the heart—and looked into Billy’s eyes again. "You been swimming or something?"

"There’s a pool out back," Billy said, taking hold of Joey’s hand. "Didn’t think about it much in winter," he confessed, then kissed it.

Joey pulled it away and set it against Billy’s stomach, teasing down to the waist of his cut-offs. "Can we swim later?"

Billy was staring down at Joey’s hand, trying to sit still. "If—if you want."

Joey nodded, satisfied, and unbuttoned him, skimming his fingers over the damp spot next to Billy’s pocket. Yeah, so he was a tease sometimes. So what. Joey slipped his hand inside Billy’s pants and touched him to make up for it, fingers finding hard and heat and dampness through Billy’s boxers.

"Oh— _Jesus_ —don’t—" Billy panted, jerking under Joey’s hand.

Joey concentrated on getting Billy’s pants off him instead, leaning up for a kiss when he got them down around Billy’s knees. "Okay, I won’t."

"I mean— " Billy made a strangled noise and kicked out of his cut-offs, then sat up and pushed Joey down, got Joey’s shorts unfastened. Good, good. Joey could wait a little yet, this was good.

"Yes?" he prompted, guiding Billy’s hands inside his shorts.

Billy sucked his breath in through his teeth, then leaned to kiss Joey while he pushed his shorts down, stroking Joey roughly on the way. Clever, subtle. Joey wished he’d thought of that, and Billy’s mouth on his was making it hard to think again, so he gave up on thinking. Always a smart move.

"I mean," Billy said, deep breath as he nuzzled Joey’s neck and bit, like it was an experiment he was afraid to try, "that I was gonna come if you didn’t stop that, but I want you like this." He crawled down Joey’s body and got his shorts off in one neat tug, then sat on the edge of the bed, looking at Joey expectantly.

Joey blinked hazily at the ceiling, then askance at Billy. "Um."

"Don’t play stupid, you didn’t forget."

 _Oh_. Joey sat up and knelt beside Billy. "But I’m not naked," he pointed out, plucking at his boxers, "and neither are you. Come to think of it, neither of us were actually—"

"Shut the hell up," Billy said, yanking Joey into his lap. Billy slid his hands from Joey’s hips up as far as Joey’s shoulder blades, then down again with a meaningful squeeze.

" _Billy_." Joey shuddered and spread his legs farther apart, settling onto him.

"I don’t care," Billy said softly, stroking circles against the small of Joey’s back, "if you’re naked or half-naked or whatever, what matters is you’re here and I can feel you, and you feel too fucking good to stop, okay?"

"Yes," Joey said blankly, clutching at Billy’s shoulders like a lifeline. Billy’s cock was nudged up against his own between their bellies—stupid fucking boxers—and he wanted to grind Billy through the mattress. Damn Billy and his fucking artless, _perfect_ way with words. That's exactly how it was.

"Good," Billy whispered, then kissed Joey’s earlobe, "because I know you like this and it’s sexy when you’re all desperate and flustered, got it?"

Billy probably regretted saying that, or wait, maybe he didn’t, because in two seconds flat he was on his back with Joey pounding into him like this was the last chance they’d get to hump or fuck or whatever for a long time, which couldn’t be farther from the truth, but _fuck_ Billy felt as good as he said Joey felt and it was perfect and Joey wouldn’t give it up for anything and he’d never knock phone sex again _ever_ —

"Ohfuck," Billy whimpered, and Joey held still just long enough to feel him come, sharp jerks of his hips and soaked, sticky cloth between them. " _Joey_. Fuck..."

"Not quite," Joey mumbled, then suffocated his shout in the beige comforter. Fucking _yes_.

"I hate it when you’re in control," Billy said, barely catching his breath.

Joey couldn’t move, so he didn’t say a thing. He’d take that as a compliment.

They lay there for a long time, not really sleeping, but not really awake, either. Billy kept nuzzling and kissing Joey’s hair, stroking it like he thought Joey _was_ asleep. Joey wished he had a tape recorder, because Billy was so sappy after sex sometimes it was fucking hilarious, but Joey never ruined the moment by waking. He cherished that too much to give it up. Sure, Billy consciously called him _love_ sometimes, but _Joeylove_ was rarer and it made him feel like shivering.

A knock at the door ruined everything.

"Billy?" Barbara still had keys in her hand; Joey could hear the clink and rattle as she moved.

Billy swore violently and sat up, almost knocking Joey out of his lap, but he managed to hold on and return Joey’s look with genuinely frightened eyes. He turned his head toward the door and tentatively said, "Yeah?"

"Is your friend here yet?"

"Yeah, um," Billy said, giving Joey a gentle shove. Joey climbed out of his lap and sat on the bed, trying to breathe normally. Billy stood up and raked his fingers through his hair, then continued, "We’re gonna go for a swim, can you hold on?" He dashed across the room to his drawer, rummaged and came up with a handful of what looked like random boxers, then made a big show of slamming the drawer. He tossed one of the boxer-things to Joey— _oh_. Swim trunks. Billy stumbled out of his boxers and into another pair of the rumpled trunks, then gestured wildly at Joey.

Joey stood up and shook them out, then decided he should probably respond, too. "Hi!" he called, stumbling out of his wet boxers. He flung them under the bed, then pulled on the trunks. Shorter than he preferred, but Billy’s eyes flicked casually in his direction, radiating approval. Joey flipped him off.

Barbara made an annoyed sound. "The pool hasn’t been cleaned in about a week," she said, voice heavy with implication. "You’ll probably have to use the net."

"Fine," Billy said, vanishing into the bathroom, slamming some cupboards before returning with an armful of towels. He nodded at the door, making a frantic turning gesture.

Joey stared at Billy, then the door, and understood. He looked scanned the floor helplessly, located his shirt, and picked it up. He unlocked the door hesitantly, grateful it opened inward. "Er, sorry about the phone this morning."

"It’s all right," Barbara reassured him, smoothing back her hair. Joey wanted to shrink from her appraisal, but didn’t. He couldn’t help clutching his shirt just a bit tighter.

"Coming through," Billy said, pushing past Joey, arms still full of towels. "Mom."

Barbara stepped back and let them pass, still holding her briefcase, even. "Dinner’s at five," she called after Billy.

"It’s only four," he called back. "Joey, could you grab sunscreen out of the cabinet?"

Joey caught up with Billy in the dining room and watched him unlock the sliding door. He snapped the sunscreen open and shut; he’d always been fascinated by the vaguely insect-repellent smell. Joey made sure Billy’s mother was out of earshot, then ventured, "Whats up with her?"

Billy slid the door open and stepped outside, obviously waiting for Joey to follow. Joey did, sliding the door shut behind them. "Well?"

"You have no idea," Billy said, dropping the towels on the patio. The pale cement was hot under Joey’s bare feet, and he shifted uncomfortably as he set down his shirt and the sunscreen. "She’s been an absolute—" to see Billy hesitate before insulting _anyone_ was rare "— _cunt_ ever since we got home. I couldn’t do a damn thing without her reminding me that the Cape depends on my behavior, blah blah _blah_ —"

"I’m here," Joey said, wandering over to the pool-cover crank. He knelt down and took hold of it, smiling. "Get the other side?"

Billy grinned back at him, then wandered down to the opposite side of the shallow end, taking hold of the plastic wheel and straightening the edge of the bubble-wrap tarp. "We’ve gotta work on the naked part, though!"

"Nah, we’d better not skinny-dip," Joey said, and started cranking. "Your mom would have a fit."

"Or a heart attack," Billy sighed wistfully. "If only we were so lucky."

 _We are_ , Joey thought, gazing down the length of the pool, watching the tarp slowly rolling back to reveal glimmering blue. _And how_.

 

* * *

"You said earlier that you had shit to tell me," Billy said sleepily.

Joey shifted on the couch, rolling away from the screen so he could snuggle against Billy’s chest. Fuck Comedy Central. "I do," Joey said, smoothing Billy’s t-shirt over his hip. "But you made me forget."

Billy tucked his chin over the top of Joey’s head. "Hey, if it’s important..."

"It is," Joey said pensively. "I guess."

"Is your dad trying to pull shit with you?" Billy asked, suddenly angry.

"No, but he’s trying to pull shit with _somebody_ ," Joey sighed. "I think the Feds are on him."

"What happened this morning?"

"Alessandro was supposed to drive me straight here, remember?"

"Yeah, I admit the bus thing had me confused, but then I thought, hey, that’s cool, because it’s not often I get to pick you up places—" Billy cut himself off and sighed. "Yeah."

"Dad pulled him off the job, so to speak, because he needed his ‘services’ elsewhere." Instinctively, Joey curled closer to Billy, as if forgetfulness lay in security. "Carl drove me to Penn Station instead."

"I hate that place," Billy said. "I had this three-hour layover from hell once. I hope you didn’t have to wait long."

"Only about ten minutes," Joey said, "but Carl refused to leave till after I was on the bus and gone."

Billy kissed the top of Joey’s head. "I do appreciate that your dad’s protective, though."

"That’s not the point," Joey sighed. "We were followed. Carl had to make sure they didn’t follow _me_."

"Jesus H. Christ," Billy whispered.

"I don’t think anybody knows where I’m going, I mean besides New Haven. There’s no way they’d know about the Cape."

"I’m not letting you out of my sight," Billy said, sounding like he’d just awakened from a nightmare.

Joey kissed Billy’s chest, rubbing the spot on his collarbone that had blossomed into an impressive hickey. _And I’m following you to the ends of the earth_.

"We’d better get to bed," Billy sighed.

"Yeah," Joey agreed. "What time you wanna leave?"

"Nine," Billy said. "It’s gonna take us like five or six hours, assuming I don’t get lost."

"I’m navigating, remember?"

"I still might get lost."

"You won’t," Joey insisted. "Not too badly, anyway."

Billy found Joey’s chin in the dark and tipped it up, kissing him while some cued laughter flared with the glow of the TV screen. "Love you," he said. "So fucking much."

"E ti amo più del mondo intero," Joey murmured, and Billy held him just a little bit tighter.

 

* * *

Getting out of the house was a nightmare. Either Barbara had been up all night anyway or their shuffling around in the kitchen and last-minute packing woke her up, but for some reason she decided that hanging around in a bathrobe and making suggestions was a good idea. Joey ate his Pop-Tarts quickly and begged the excuse of carting some more things out to the car. Once you got to know her, the woman was deeply, profoundly scary. Billy helped him heft the cooler into the Toronado’s trunk and apologized.

"She’s not usually this bad," Billy said weakly.

"I know," Joey said. "I’ve been here before."

"Did you remember sunscreen?" Barbara called from the porch, waving a familiar white bottle.

"Yeah," Billy answered. "Joey’s got shit like three times that SPF."

Barbara made a face at her son. "William—"

"Stuff!" Billy shouted. "I meant _stuff_."

Still wearing a tart expression, Barbara set the sunscreen down and went back in the house.

"Can we get out of here?" Joey asked.

"ASAP," Billy agreed, slamming the trunk. "Gotta get my sunglasses, then we’re off."

Said sunglasses were black, sleek things that looked kind of silly, but still functional. Billy tossed them onto the dashboard and sat down in the driver’s seat, slamming the door before reaching for his belt. Joey reached for the glasses and put them on, then studied himself in the visor mirror. He made a face and took them off again, carefully folding them up and putting them in one of the cup holders.

"You’re so careful," Billy said, mildly taunting, and started up the car.

"They’re good glasses," Joey said. "Or used to be, anyway." There was a scratch on one lens.

"Couple of years old," Billy confirmed, "but they’re ten-dollar junk."

"Well, geez," Joey said, hands up in the air as the house finally disappeared behind them. "Remind me to buy you some fucking Ray-Bans, why don’t you."

Billy reached over and squeezed Joey’s thigh. "Do me a favor and shut up, would you? This is gonna be a long ride."

Joey pulled their map out of the glove compartment and slapped Billy’s hand with it. "Whatever you say."

Billy grabbed the map and threw it on the floor, then took Joey’s hand and kissed it.

They rode in silence for a while, Billy concentrating on the road—and eventually the highway. He hadn’t asked for the map yet, so Joey hadn’t bothered to retrieve it. He couldn’t stop thinking about all the little shit—Billy holding the door for him, kissing his hand, murmuring to him when he thought no one else was listening. Well, to be fair, he probably knew that Joey was listening. It was just...

Sweet. Unbelievably sweet, and incredibly unfair.

Joey watched the scenery go by, and it occurred to him he wasn’t measuring up to that, bottling stuff up and keeping secrets, even if those secrets were old and almost didn’t exist anymore, even for him. Billy was holding his hand again, humming along with the radio—sporting a weird fondness for "Bennie and the Jets"—and Joey thought he might burst from the unknowing greatness of it all. Still, he said nothing.

Eventually, they needed the map. Joey hated unfolding more than folding; a map looked small and tidy, but once unleashed, it sprawled and crinkled and blew all over the place, struggling with all its inanimate life against being properly read. Joey gave up and roughly folded half of it under, beating it into a manageable piece of the New England coastline. He glanced up at the highway signs and traced the corresponding route on the map with his fingertip. They were still on I-95 North, which was, for the moment, all Billy seemed to care about. He was driving with one arm out the window, hair ruined.

"I can’t take you anywhere," Joey said, tugging Billy’s sunglasses off and smoothing his hair back. The wind was still winning. Joey wasn’t even sure he had a comb within reach.

"Who says _you’re_ taking me anywhere?"

"You said we’re stopping for lunch pretty soon," Joey reminded him. "I’m hungry, too."

Billy turned his head to look at Joey. "Oh, and exactly who decides when we exit?"

"I do," Joey said firmly, hitting the map.

"I don’t think so," Billy said, grinning devilishly. " _I’m_ at the—"

Joey looked up just then and his heart stopped. "Billy, look _out_ —"

" _Jesus_!" Billy shouted, slowing just enough as the guy in the next lane swerved in front of him. "Some people—"

Joey rubbed his forehead and stared out the window. "He used his turn signal, Billy."

Billy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, then sat up straight, both hands on the wheel. "Yeah, so I looked away for a second."

Joey breathed out, collecting himself. "I’m not going to vanish, okay?" He put a hand on Billy’s shoulder, rubbing gently. "You want me to drive for a while after lunch?"

"Yeah," Billy said, reaching down blindly for his sunglasses. "Yeah..."

Joey tightened his grip on Billy’s shoulder and tried to remember a prayer to St. Christopher.

 

* * *

"We’re supposed to catch Route 128 somewhere around Providence."

"Billy," Joey said, hitting the wheel out of sheer frustration, "we’re fucking _in_ Providence."

Billy looked up from the map and shrugged. "I’m only telling you what the map says."

"Did you even think to have your mom write out, you know, _useful_ directions?"

"A map is useful!" Billy insisted. "This is an adventure."

Joey glanced at the clock. "Hi, I’d like to get there before it gets dark, thank you."

"Pull over."

Joey turned away from the line of cars in front of him, because Billy deserved an idiot look. "What?"

"I said, pull over."

"I can’t, we’re in the middle of traffic."

"I mean first chance you get!"

"I got news for you, I don’t _see_ any places to pull—"

"Goddammit, Joey!" Billy sounded like he was about ready to throw the map out the window.

"Look," Joey said, taking a deep breath. "We’re on 195 East. Would you just look at the fucking map for a minute?"

Rustling, then a sulking sigh. "Fine. Okay. I’m looking."

"I looked ahead a little bit," Joey said cautiously. "I _think_ we’re looking for 25 East."

Billy punched the map, an unmistakable sound. "Why the fuck didn’t you say that two miles ago?"

Joey gripped the steering wheel, panic gathering in his stomach. "Why?"

"There was a sign for 25 East."

"That explains why we’re in Providence," Joey said, flipping the turn signal. "Hold onto your seat."

"Wh—"

"We’re turning around and getting on 25 East," Joey said calmly. There was an exit coming up.

"But you have no idea where—"

"Do me a favor and shut up. This is going to be a long ride."

 

* * *

"So, basically, we were looking for 6 East the whole time. You could’ve just _said_ that."

"We had to take 25 and 128 to _get_ to 6," Joey said, closing his eyes. He was going to sleep till they stopped for dinner; Billy was easier to deal with behind the wheel than as a passenger.

"Right," Billy said, reaching over to pat Joey’s knee. "I’ll remember that."

Joey had half a mind to shove his hand away, but he closed his eyes instead, drifting. He wondered how most married couples managed to navigate honeymoons or family vacations. This was insane.

"Thanks," Billy said, so quiet Joey almost missed it.

"Don’t worry about it."

"You would think that in all the times I’ve been here, I would’ve remembered the way without the fucking map," Billy said, ashamed.

"You don’t give a shit when you’re not driving," Joey said, eyes still closed. "It took me forever to remember how to get around even in Montclair."

"Yeah, but your dad’s a nutcase with hired drivers," Billy said, fingers wandering up to Joey’s thigh. "With my parents, it’s like, what do you _mean_ you forget the way to grandma’s? I swear, this whole idea that guys automatically have a good sense of direction is bullshit."

"Billy, can I sleep now?"

"I thought we were gonna stop for dinner."

"You said not until Hyannis."

"We’re _in_ Hyannis," Billy said, that old familiar grin in his voice.

"I hate it when you’re in control," Joey said, and grudgingly cranked his seat up.

It was just past five when they pulled into the parking lot of a place that probably didn’t show up in any tourist booklets, just a tiny roadside shack with seafood and fries, shit like that. The sun was low now, less threatening, and Joey could smell the sea in the heavy air. He shut the car door and squinted at the horizon. They were close, weren’t they? The worst part of the driving, Billy had said, would be the on the Cape itself. That was frighteningly true—as soon as they hit 6 East, total traffic nightmare. It might take them another hour and a half just to travel the last thirty miles. Might as well stretch here.

Billy walked around the front of the car and stood in front of Joey, hands on his hips. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Joey said. "Rough trip, s’all."

Billy stepped up close, closer than Joey could remember him daring in public in a long time, and slid his arms around Joey’s waist. "It’s not too far," he said, and brushed a kiss against Joey’s lips.

"I know," Joey said, sliding his hands up Billy’s arms. He could get used to this, he really could.

"Let’s go inside."

"Looks like we can sit outside."

"You want to?"

Joey leaned and kissed Billy, off-center against his mouth. "Yes."

 

* * *

"Psst." Tentative nuzzle against Joey’s neck, soft murmur against his ear. "We’re here."

Joey blinked rapidly and stretched, trying to clear his head. "Hmm?"

Billy unbuckled Joey’s seatbelt, letting it slither up to catch under his armpit. "You’ve been asleep since after dinner."

"That was the idea," Joey said, still foggy. He blinked at Billy, who wouldn’t stop grinning. "What’re you looking at?"

"You," Billy said. He mock-pinched Joey’s cheek, then leaned in the opposite direction and opened his door, stretching as he got out. "C’mon, let’s get this shit inside."

"Hang on." Joey untangled himself and got out of the car, blinking at the driveway. Sandy gravel, more of an overlarge parking spot than an actual driveway. As soon as he looked up, he was wide awake.

The sun was just starting to sink over the ocean, soft reddish rays bleeding into the gray-blue Atlantic. It was almost funny, standing in somebody’s fucking driveway and being able to see the ocean behind the house. The house was about the same color as the ocean, only paler, more solid. Bluish siding, gray shingled roof, wooden-plank walkway down to the front porch. Wrap-around deck, nearly the whole second level of the house, as far as Joey could see. Maybe even a lower deck down around back, close to the water (or maybe that was just wishful thinking.) Sea oats and a gentle hill, visible footpath snaking through the weeds and over the rise. Wow, for _real_?

"Cod gone to your head?" Billy asked, and Joey turned to find him with his arms full of Joey’s guitar case. Joey went over and tried to take it from him.

"No, why?"

"You’re doing your best impression of a fish," Billy said, tugging the case away. "Ah, ah," Billy chided. "Joey, relax. I’ve got it."

Joey glanced back over his shoulder at the house, then back at Billy. "Your mom owns this."

Billy shrugged. "Yeah. Doesn’t your dad own vacation property?"

 _Not beach-front he doesn’t_ , Joey thought. "Someplace in upstate New York."

"Maybe you can talk him into letting us go there," Billy said, then started for the house. "Let’s go."

Joey hauled Billy’s duffel bag out of the trunk, then caught up with him at the front door. "What town is this again?"

"Wellfleet," Billy said, wrestling the key into the lock.

"Auspicious."

"What?"

Joey set Billy’s duffel bag down and turned back toward the car, grinning. "Never mind."

As soon as they had everything piled in the breezeway, Billy turned the lights on. The floor was tiled with some kind of slate-like stone, smooth and polished under Joey’s feet. White walls, closet for coats, dresser-thing with a phone and a picture of Billy sitting on it. Young, too—maybe fifth grade.

"Jesus, I told her not to keep that there." Billy walked over and slapped the picture frame down flat.

Joey looked at the painting hanging just beside the tiny staircase in front of them. "Seaside watercolors are fucking overdone."

"Oh, don’t start," Billy muttered, picking up his duffel bag and Joey’s suitcase with a grunt. "If you have bones to pick over the decorating, Mom’s in charge of that."

"And I won’t be discussing it with her any time soon, thanks." Joey picked up the cooler and followed.

The living room was nice, but like Billy’s bedroom, it suffered from Barbara’s unfortunate penchant for beige. Joey set the cooler down in the kitchen (unremarkable; a kitchen was a kitchen) and wandered back into the living room, thinking to kick his shoes off before he went any further. The carpet felt expensive, and it probably cost a fortune to clean. Joey could hear Billy back the dim hallway that branched off from the kitchen, hauling luggage back to...well, the bedroom, he could only assume, though Billy had mentioned that this place had four of them, could sleep something like eight people.

Joey walked over to the pale, blue-pinstriped couch and sat down, reaching over to turn the lamp on. There was a smaller couch, something like a loveseat, sitting at a 90-degree angle to the one he was sitting on, and a coffee table perched between him and the TV, stacked with a couple picture-books and a basket of silk flowers. There were also bookshelves—encyclopedia set, dictionary, old novels, things that Barbara probably had no use for. Well, except for the romance paperbacks.

"Need some help back there?" Joey called over his shoulder.

"No," Billy answered. "I got it. You can unpack the cooler, though."

Joey had gotten almost all of the perishables into the fridge when Billy wandered into the kitchen, already stripped down to nothing but his boxers. It _was_ kind of warm, but Billy must’ve turned the air conditioning on, because things were starting to cool down. Billy took the egg carton out of Joey’s hand and put it in the fridge for him, then closed it.

"You were staring," he explained patiently.

Joey folded his arms and leaned back against the fridge. "Yeah, so? Score’s even."

"C’mere," Billy said, tugging at Joey’s arm.

Joey sighed and let himself be dragged.

They passed a blue tiled bathroom and what looked like a couple of small guest bedrooms, but Billy had Joey by the hand and wasn’t going to let him stop to inspect them. Billy took a sharp left and it was all Joey could do to keep from smacking into the wall, and he was about to tell Billy as much when Billy let go of him and said, "Artists first."

Joey pushed the door open and blinked stupidly. "Four windows."

Billy was leaning against the wall, smirking.

Everywhere Joey looked, he could see the ocean. Four large windows, two on each of the walls that met at a corner facing the sea. The bed was right beside him, right at the entrance, big enough to be queen-sized or probably even king-sized, but all he could think was _water, there’s water everywhere and the sunset’s going to flood this room like high tide_.

"If Mom was along, no _way_ could we have this," Billy said, walking around Joey to sit down on the edge of the bed. "In fact, I don’t think we’re supposed to use it even though she’s not."

"Careful," Joey mumbled. "We’ll be careful."

"Yes," Billy said, reaching out to catch him about the waist, "we definitely will."

This was definitely one of those times when talking wasn’t an option, and Joey forgot how tired he was as soon as Billy got him sprawled out on the bedspread naked. Completely, totally naked. Billy slipped out of his boxers and wriggled up beside Joey—naked, wonderfully naked—and kissed him like a man starved. _Careful_ , Joey thought, wrapping himself around Billy so they fit together, _we have to be_...

"Which bag’s it in?" Billy asked breathlessly.

Joey had to think about that a second before he realized what Billy meant. "Oh. It’s..." _You better remember quick, because you sure as hell can’t use sunscreen_. "Yours. Duffel. Side—"

Billy was off the bed before Joey could tell him _which_ side pocket, but at this point he was burning up and didn’t care whether he was going to get fucked or Billy wanted to be fucked or whatever, they were fucking _alone in a beach house_ and the sun was glinting off Billy’s hair and the ocean both, like it made no difference. It didn’t. Billy was back on the bed, back beside him, and it couldn’t have mattered less what the tide was or how long it had been since Billy’s last haircut.

"What d’you want?" Billy asked feverishly, kissing Joey’s chest and stroking him at the same time. "On the phone—I was saying—"

"Can’t move," Joey gasped. "Do it." He was lying there looking at the ceiling and seeing stars, for crying out loud, so on second thought, no _way_ was he gonna get up and do all the work while Billy was like this. Besides, it was practically code for the fact that Billy had already made up his mind.

Billy stopped kissing him, and his hand went still, soft brush where it had been a squeeze just seconds ago. "Joey..." He crawled up and kissed Joey on the mouth, slow and full. Joey wanted to push him off and say he was too fucking close for this, open the lube already and get on with it, but the tube had already slipped out of Billy’s hand, which was at the nape of Joey’s neck, just holding him there.

Joey sighed and kissed Billy’s cheek, and Billy made a strangled sound in his throat. "You crazy fuck," he whispered, trembling. "I’m not gonna..."

"I know," Billy said, letting go of Joey so he could prop himself up on his elbows, "but I just..."

"I’m here," Joey said, and he felt like it was the hundredth time, and even though he could barely think, it was still somehow as important as the first time he’d said it.

Billy sat back and picked up the lube, uncapping it decisively. Joey tilted his head back and closed his eyes again; the best way was just to listen, to try and guess what he’d see when he finally tilted his head back down and opened his eyes. Billy’s fingers were on him, in him, slippery and tentative. Joey squirmed a little, impatient— _if I was going to break you would’ve broken me by now_ —and Billy responded unexpectedly, pulling his fingers out and fumbling for a second or two before Joey felt his cock nudge up against him, familiar heat, and he took hold of Billy’s straining arms on either side of him. Time to open his eyes, tilt his head down. Billy was looking at Joey— _again_ —like he’d vanish if Billy so much as closed his eyes as he pushed inside. Joey set his hand on Billy’s hip.

"Through the mattress, remember?" he said, leaning up for a kiss.

The angle was awkward, and for a moment, the pain was stunning. Joey swallowed his shout—easy, since it was already muffled by Billy’s mouth—and set his other hand on Billy’s hip, too, shifting to straighten things out. Better. Billy curled over him, quiet sob against Joey’s neck, and started to move...slowly, gentle as the ocean. Joey felt Billy’s hand on him again, gentle as his body, and Joey wanted to sob, too, because there was none of this familiar, none of it expected.

He came with Billy’s name on his lips and the sound of the sea in his ears.

 

* * *

Joey felt the bed shift before he was fully awake, drifting in absence, aware that Billy had untangled himself with a gentle kiss to Joey’s cheek and left. He considered opening his eyes, but didn’t.

It wasn’t until later—half an hour, maybe an hour—that Joey sat up and took in his surroundings by daylight. He was still naked, and he cringed at the dry mess on his belly and the bedspread. He hoped to God it would come out with a good scrubbing. Barbara would have their heads, or possibly worse.

Joey stretched and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, then got up and made his way over to the nearest set of windows. The curtains weren’t drawn, so if there’d been any boaters out, they might have seen him, but there weren’t, and the sun was bright and clear on the ocean. Joey wanted to skip breakfast and go swimming. Maybe Billy would think that was a good idea, too—wherever he was.

The door creaked, and Billy’s voice drifted into the room. "Hey, you up?"

"Yeah," Joey said, turning around. Billy hovered in the doorway, dressed in boxers and a t-shirt, dish towel slung over his arm. "What’s that?"

"For you," Billy said, holding out the towel.

Joey wrinkled his nose and crossed the room, grabbing the towel before settling down on the bed. Wet with hot water, felt good scrubbed against his skin, but not quite as good as soap would. Joey twisted around and took the clean side to the bedspread, frowning. He couldn’t tell if it was helping or not.

"Forget about that," Billy said, leaning over him, yanking the towel out of his grasp. "I’ll get it later if you’re so worried about it."

"I like my head the way it is, thanks."

"Huh?"

"Never mind," Joey said, standing up beside Billy. "You making breakfast?"

"Maybe," Billy said, sneaking one arm around Joey, fingers light against Joey’s ass.

Joey let Billy kiss him, then shied away, glancing at the floor. "Gotta find my underwear."

"Don’t ask me," Billy said. He twisted the towel up and whipped it in Joey’s direction.

"You’re the one who threw it," Joey reminded him.

Breakfast wasn’t elaborate: English muffins, butter, jelly, fruit, cheese, all haphazard on a cutting board. Joey could tell that this was a stretch for Billy, though, and he was trying desperately to please him. Again with the sweetness, that fucking _maddening_ sweetness. God, he had to get that song finished. Joey bit into his muffin decisively, grinning at Billy across the table.

"You’re happy."

"You actually made something that wasn’t burnt French toast," Joey said, mouth still full.

"It was a challenge," Billy said gravely. "I, for one, am perfectly happy with Pop-Tarts."

Joey swallowed and went after an orange slice. "Only if they’re cinnamon and sugar."

"What, you didn’t like the blueberry ones yesterday?" Billy asked, popping a grape in his mouth.

"Not really," Joey admitted.

"Damn. Let’s work on that communication thing, okay?"

Joey almost dropped his orange. "Sure. Okay, whatever. No more blueberry Pop-Tarts."

Billy shook his head, half laughing, but Joey couldn’t help noticing the wistful look in his eyes.

After breakfast, they stripped down again, gathered up their clothes in the back room, and decided they had better establish a laundry basket. Score one for Joey. Billy said that since they were naked again, they might as well take advantage of it, and Joey said, sure, a shower sounded great. Score two.

"Okay—so you should’ve said you meant—" Billy gasped, staring at the shower ceiling.

 _Who’s the fish now?_ Joey just hummed and licked his neck again, clean skin and water, tasted the faint soapy trace of shampoo. He scooted closer to Billy and managed to bang his knee off the shower door. "Ow," Joey muttered, then caught Billy’s earlobe between his teeth.

"Serves you right," Billy said, but he put his arms around Joey and kissed him anyway, and the water rained down on them both, starting to get cold, trickling into their eyes and mouths.

After lunch (nachos with salsa that Ric would’ve called wimpy,) Billy decided they should take a walk up the beach, or maybe take a drive into town. The beach was fine by Joey. He fished around in his suitcase, cursing when he couldn’t find—oh. Outside pocket. Joey shoved his feet into his sandals, then fiddled with the almost-shot velcro for a minute before deciding these ones were for wading.

"Almost ready?" Billy called back the hall.

"Yeah!" Joey shouted, then stood up and looked around. He needed a container of some kind.

"Did you lose something?"

"No, but do you have a basket?"

"I don’t think she’ll miss it," Billy said a while later, eyes fixed on the emptied flower basket dangling from Joey’s hand. So far, there were five shells in it, none of them in great condition.

"Good," Joey said, stooping to poke through a pile of seaweed. He thought he’d seen a sand crab, and while they couldn’t keep one of those in the basket, they were fun to catch.

Billy took the basket away from him so he could dig with both hands, peering over Joey’s shoulder. "What are you looking for?" he asked.

"This," Joey said, coming up with two hands full of wet, mucky sand and a frantically skittering crab. It couldn’t dig any deeper than Joey’s cupped hands, and its tiny, speeding legs tickled his fingers.

"I used to catch those when I was a kid," Billy said, setting the basket down on the sand, holding his hands out. Joey dropped the crab into them, and Billy laughed. "But they died all the time, even if I made sure to put them in this big bucket with sand and enough salt water to keep ’em wet. The bucket smelled awful. Mom said I wasn’t allowed to do that ever again."

"Did you keep them in the shade?" Joey asked critically.

"Probably not," Billy said. "I don’t remember too well."

"You remember throwing the betta in the ocean."

"Something like that is hard to forget," Billy muttered, and he tossed the crab gently into the surf. It dove beneath the wet sand in a flurry of bubbles.

"We should get a fish tank," Joey said, brushing his hands off before picking the basket back up.

"Yeah, sure," Billy said, patting Joey on the back. "I’m sure Parker would _love_ that."

"Not at Regis," Joey clarified, wading into the water as it rose ice-cold around his ankles. "I mean...sometime. You know, after we’re out of there."

Billy was quiet for a few seconds. "Joey, I have no fucking idea if they’ll even take my applications."

"I told you, I’m gonna help you with them," Joey said, bending down for a piece of black abalone. He shook it off, held it up glistening to the sunlight. "People with worse records than yours still get into college."

"Not Ivy League," Billy sighed, kicking up a splash at nothing in particular.

Joey dropped the shell in the basket and looked at him, slogging over to where he was standing, almost knee-deep in the surf. "Billy, places like Regis fucking _negotiate_ with schools for positions. I hate to break it to you, but we have politics on our side. Parker probably meets with guys from like ten different colleges just to—"

"It’s not fair to people like you who worked for it," Billy said, jaw tense. He was staring out across the water, maybe looking for something that wasn’t there.

Joey reached out and took Billy’s hand, shook it a little. "You’ve _been_ working, Billy. I’ve seen you."

"Yeah, I know, but...it’s too late. I haven’t been working for long enough."

"You don’t know that," Joey said, detemrined. "You _don’t_."

Billy gave a short laugh, giving Joey’s hand a squeeze. "Glad somebody has faith in me," he said. "Dad expects me to go to technical school or something. To hell with prestige."

"Your dad," Joey said, lacing his fingers with Billy’s, tugging him along, "doesn’t know you."

 

* * *

Sunday morning, they both overslept. If, after those lame-ass cable movies that kept them up until three, Billy still expected Joey up bright and early for another à la carte breakfast, then Billy was nuts. As it turned out, he had no such plans; Joey woke up at eleven-thirty to Billy sprawled out beside him, covers skewed to his side of the bed, gracelessly fast asleep. His hair really _did_ need cutting.

"What d’you wanna do today?" Billy asked, flopping down on the couch beside Joey with a plate full of four Pop-Tarts. He offered one to Joey, waving it in front of Joey’s face while he flipped channels. "It’s cinnamon and brown sugar, or whatever. All the same to me."

Joey took it and kept clicking through the channels. "There are no cartoons on."

"This is Sunday," Billy reminded him, chewing on a bite of Pop-Tart.

"So, I swear some channels used to have cartoons Sunday," Joey insisted, pausing on Nickelodeon. That was always good for something funny, if not flat-out stupid. Where were the Looney Tunes?

"I was thinking we should go into town today," Billy said, setting his plate on the coffee table beside Joey’s mug of tea. "Have lunch there, cruise around."

"You just want an excuse to drive," Joey said, setting the remote down. He picked up his tea and dipped the Pop-Tart into it thoughtfully. Couldn’t be all that bad with Earl Grey.

"No, I want an excuse to show you around," Billy said, snaking his arm casually around Joey’s waist. "Besides, I’ve gotta show you off."

Joey almost choked on his Pop-Tart. "Whatever, Billy."

"Well, I do," Billy said, setting his chin on Joey’s shoulder. "Nobody around here would remember me, and there are always hot chicks on the Cape, and I want to show ’em what they can’t have."

"Fine, as long as it goes both ways," Joey said, smirking into his mug for another sip.

"Asshole," Billy said, reaching forward for another Pop-Tart. " _Yes_ , it goes both ways."

"Good," Joey said, leaning to set his mug down again. He didn’t take his eyes off the screen as he said, "What if we go to Provincetown? I’m kind of curious."

Billy shrugged. "Lots of artists out there. You’d like that."

 _Nope, doesn’t have a fucking clue_. "Yeah, I’ve heard things," Joey agreed.

"We could do that," Billy said. "We’ve got two fucking weeks."

"I’d like to do some drawing out here," Joey said, changing the subject. "Maybe writing."

Billy sat forward a little, shifting so Joey snugged closer against him. "What’ve you been writing?"

"Songs," Joey said, turning his head. Billy had an outright curious look on his face.

"Yeah, you and the band."

"Actually, no. I do the writing, they do the playing. Or at least that’s how it was this time."

"You haven’t played at Regis for a while," Billy said. "And that song about Snuffy is hilarious."

"It’s not just about Snuffy," Joey said pointedly. "It’s about _us_. The gang."

"You should write more songs about us," Billy said. He took Joey’s mug away and sipped, cringing.

Joey glanced down at the floor for a second, then back at Billy. "Actually," he said, "I, uh, have."

Billy went from tea-disgusted to fascinated in two seconds flat. "No _way_."

"But it’s probably crap," Joey added hastily. "I’ve never tried to play it. I wrote it like three months ago. After we all snuck up to the hill that one night."

"No shit," Billy murmured. "Could you play it?"

"Later," Joey said with a grimace, stealing his mug back. "It’s too early for that."

As threatened, Billy drove them into town around one o’clock. Wellfleet reminded Joey of the quintessential country town, only transplanted from the middle of nowhere in the woods to the middle of nowhere on the seashore. He hadn’t been expecting tree-lined roads and freshwater ponds that close to the ocean, but the sun cut down through the leaves as if to say, _surprise_. He thought about hiking and wondered if they could do that. The Central Village turned out to be one long, understated main street lined with low, understated shops and restaurants.

"What’s Lema’s?" Joey asked.

"Grocery store," Billy said. "We’ll go there if we run out of shit, or into Provincetown."

"It’s not that far, is it?"

"Nope."

They ended up at a place called the Beachcomber, which was right on the parking lot of what Billy said was a major beach. You couldn’t see the water from the car, anyway, and Joey kept glancing over his shoulder as they headed toward the restaurant. He could hear the sea, smell it.

"We can walk out there later," Billy said, taking him by the elbow to usher him inside.

The hostess asked them if they preferred bar or patio, and Joey called the latter before Billy could get any ideas. Once outside, he was somewhat disappointed that they _still_ couldn’t see the ocean. The hilly dunes and high, sparse grass were encouraging nonetheless. Joey ordered Coke and stared up at the striped umbrella over their table while Billy said he wouldn’t mind a Shirley Temple.

"You can’t be serious," Joey said as the waitress walked away. "You don’t really like those, do you?"

"No, but since you were dead set against the bar, I thought I’d rub it in."

"God, you’re an ass," Joey said, and unfolded his menu.

When the waitress—Betty, didn’t it just figure—came back with their drinks, Billy ordered a shrimp cocktail to share and said they still had no idea what they wanted. That was true. Joey spread his menu out flat on the table and stared down at it, mocked by way too many things that sounded excellent. Dammit, they were up to their necks in seafood. _Real_ seafood.

"I give up," Joey said. "What’s good here?"

"It’s all _good_ here," Billy said matter-of-factly. "You’re asking the wrong question. The question is, what’s _excellent_ here?"

"Okay, what’s excellent here?"

"You want to know the truth?"

"No, Billy. I want lies, nothing but lies."

"Go with the fried shrimp basket," Billy said. "I’m getting scallops."

Joey chewed on his tongue, trying to remember the last time he’d had scallops. A long time ago, and he remembered something faintly unpleasant at the back of his tongue as he swallowed. Kind of bitter, or maybe that had been the deep-frying. He decided that when their orders came, he’d have to snatch a scallop from Billy’s basket to see if they tasted bitter even on the Cape.

They did, as it turned out. Joey bit a shrimp in half and decided that some things just couldn’t be helped, then dropped the rest of the shrimp in Billy’s basket. "For your loss," he said.

Billy picked up the mangled shrimp and stared at it. "Gee, thanks."

"I promise I’ve never had mono or anything like that."

"Oh, that’s really fucking funny, Joey."

Joey raised his glass. "To your health."

Billy rolled his eyes, then popped the shrimp in his mouth.

They walked out to the end of the parking lot after they paid the bill (Billy insisted on taking care of it, so Joey slapped a five down on the table as tip before he could protest.) The view from there was spectacular, and Joey thought that he’d be happy spending the entire two weeks exploring different beaches. Billy said that was definitely possible—there was even some kind of shoreline state park.

"Is there hiking?" Joey asked, shading his eyes from the sun. The ocean was calm, rippling.

"I think," Billy said. "And if there isn’t, we can do it anyway."

"I’m not getting kicked out of a state park, Billy."

"I don’t think they’re watching all that closely."

"I hope not," Joey said, and took Billy’s hand, tugging him off the asphalt and into the sandy grass.

 

* * *

_Couldn't make sense of myself, now I'm standing_  
Here in the open; it looks like we've won

Joey ground his pencil point to dust, staring at the words he’d just jotted down. _Had_ they?

"What’cha doing?" Billy asked, suddenly and unnervingly present.

"Nothing," Joey said, letting his hand sprawl across the page, staring up at the television. "There’s nothing on."

"No kidding," Billy said, flopping down beside him. He kicked his shoes off, and one landed on the coffee table, knocking into Joey’s half-empty bowl of cereal.

Joey rubbed his eyes and set his notebook down on the floor, then curled up against Billy’s chest. "Where’d you run?" he asked, nosing at Billy’s damp t-shirt. His heartbeat was still fast.

"Just up the road," Billy said, absently mussing Joey’s hair. "I asked you if you wanted to go, but you just mumbled something and rolled over."

"Are you kidding?" Joey asked. "I’m on vacation."

"Soccer’s coming up sooner than you think," Billy reminded him. "You want Ric to kick your ass?"

"No, and I’m gonna kick yours if you don’t shut up about it."

"It’s your funeral," Billy said, reaching over Joey to swipe the remote off the table.

Joey sighed and picked his notebook up again, glancing briefly at Billy. He was distracted by channel-flipping, and he didn’t generally try reading over Joey’s shoulder when he was writing, so the coast was clear. Joey touched the pen to his lips and stared at the two new lines, musing. To work on something like this in plain sight and have Billy take no notice—or maybe his handwriting was bad enough to hide it after all—was weirdly thrilling. Hell, this song was _for_ Billy, if he ever got it done.

 _Glad that you found me, I don't regret hiding  
And should you ever take your turn to run_ –

And then the chorus again. Joey jotted the words down, glancing up at the screen every once in a while. Billy was engrossed in some kind of nature show about insects. Good thing it wasn’t about spiders. He’d flinch and if any came on, but spiders weren’t insects, so that wasn’t likely to happen. Unless some of the bugs in the show got caught in webs. Joey lost his train of thought.

"What _is_ that?"

"None of your business," Joey said, closing the notebook quickly. "It’s not finished."

"You owe me that song," Billy reminded him. "The one about the stars."

"Outside," Joey said. "Later. All right?"

"Fair enough," Billy said. He turned the TV off abruptly and tossed the remote on the floor, then ruffled Joey’s hair. "I’m gonna shower, so you can work on...whatever."

"Yep."

After lunch, Billy remembered that there was some old fishing gear in the closet downstairs. Joey couldn’t remember the last time his uncle had taken him fishing. He was young at the time—ten, maybe eleven. Their property in New York was on the Hudson, and a river as wide and deep as that was surefire good fishing. He remembered pulling trout from the gray water one after another, and then his uncle cooked them later. Joey’s father hadn’t eaten any; he claimed there were too many bones.

"That sounds like fun," Joey said. "Do you fish on the beach?"

"Nah, I hear it’s easier from a boat," Billy said, "but we don’t have a boat. There’s Gull Pond, though. And the dyke on Herring River."

"Which is better?"

"Probably the dyke," Billy said, carrying his plate over to the sink. "Too many kayakers on the pond."

It took Billy half an hour of swearing, but he managed to get a fly-fishing rod and a standard reel setup into something resembling working order. Joey grabbed the reel immediately; he didn’t know how to fly-fish except in concept, and he’d probably end up whipping somebody’s eye out. They loaded the car up, and after a brief stop at Lema’s (Billy emerged with a small styrofoam bucket full of minnows that Joey insisted on holding in his lap,) they ended up at Herring River Dyke.

"Popular spot," Joey observed, casting his line out over the railing. Pathetic distance; his aim sucked.

Billy nodded, still trying to arrange his minnow on the hook. It flipped pathetically, skewered, and Joey tried not to think about it. "First day of the spring season is worse. This is pretty tame."

Joey reeled his line in slowly, eyeing the other fishers on either side of them. A guy several years older than they were, a woman in her sixties, a yuppie couple with lures that jingled. Joey felt the line jerk—reeled furiously—then nothing. "Shit," he muttered. "Lost it."

Billy brought his line in with an alarming _fwip_ , then let out some slack for a new cast-off. His orange and yellow bobber was quite the eyesore, but it was easy to distinguish from the other red and white ones drifting lazily on the water. "Probably just a sunfish."

"You can eat sunfish," Joey said, reeling his line in until he could see his minnow trailing silver-pale just beneath the water. Not moving anymore, mangled like something had bitten it hard. He brought it in quickly and cast off again, no better than the first time. When had he developed an aversion to this?

"They’re too scaly," Billy said, wrinkling his nose.

"No, they’re not," Joey insisted. "You skin them, then batter and deep-fry."

"Head and all? Is this some weird Italian thing?"

"I am not answering that question. Dumbass."

"I was joking," Billy said, hardly skipping a beat when his bobber went crazy. "Hey!..."

On the way home, Joey was in charge of the kreel. He glanced inside, overwhelmed by fish-smell. One of the two trout was still wiggling faintly, and the three sunfish he’d brought in had filled the floor of the rubber-lined space with clear, oozy blood. He’d snapped their heads back while still on the hook. The trout were Billy’s, and Joey doubted he’d stop gloating till Joey had them cooked up properly.

"Whatever the hell you’re doing in there, it smells good," Billy called from downstairs. There was a lot of rattling and creaking, as if the fishing gear didn’t want to fit back into the closet.

Joey poked the trout one last time, then prodded the tinfoil back into place. He closed the oven door, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. The trout were almost done, skin crackling and flesh simmering in salt-and-peppered butter. If he started frying the sunfish now, the timing might balance.

They took their plates out onto the deck, taking advantage of the early evening breeze. Billy excused himself for a second, leaving Joey to nervously toss the fruit salad with his fork. Billy might hate the fish. He hadn’t done something that reckless from scratch in...well, ever. He remembered watching his uncle do it, simple enough with just butter and salt and pepper and bread crumbs, but that didn’t mean he was automatically super-chef. Billy came back with the candles from the mantel and set them on either side of the fruit-salad bowl, then took a lighter to one after the other.

"The wind’s gonna get them," Joey said, spearing bits of pineapple and peach onto his plate one by one. Strawberries, too. Why hadn’t he thought to get blueberries?

"Not right now," Billy said, but he frowned as the candles flickered dangerously. "Or not."

"Sit down," Joey said. "Fish is getting cold."

"Now, you’re sure I’m not gonna get sick from this?" Billy was staring down at his plate like the neatly skinned trout and breaded sunfish-flesh still had gills.

"You said yourself that the river’s, like, spotless," Joey said, spearing a bit of sunfish off his own plate, unconcerned. Wow, that really wasn’t bad. Mild, sweeter than the trout, just as he remembered.

Billy picked a bit of trout up with his fingers, eyebrows raised as it slid effortlessly away from the skin and bone. "Hey, that’s pretty smooth. How’d you do that?"

"I don’t know," Joey said, mouth full. "Just does."

Billy stuffed a bit of sunfish in his mouth, chewing intently. "I thought Regis ruined me for fish."

"Did they?" Fuck it. Joey picked through his fruit salad with his fingers, hunting down pineapple.

"As far as I’m concerned, this isn’t fish," Billy said, pointing at his plate. "This is, like...really special chicken or something." He stuck his tongue out at Joey, sticking his fork into the fruit salad.

Joey grinned down at his plate, thanking the fish for its goodness.

Billy did the dishes without so much as a complaint, which meant Joey could crash in the papasan chair on the lower deck and stare out at the water. He’d brought out the guitar case while Billy cleared the table, quietly carrying it outside. He settled down with the instrument in his lap, checking the strings for any bad sounds. He stuck his tongue out and fiddled with the tuning keys; it had gone flat in transit.

Joey sighed and leaned back, aimlessly fingering chords. He could play anything cold turkey, but there was no way he could sing that soon after eating without some kind of warm-up. He wondered why he felt self-conscious, sitting alone in the late sunlight with only the sea for an audience. The sink was still running; Joey could hear it through the open kitchen window. Dishes clacked, and he could hear Billy’s voice once in a while, angry notes and observations to himself. Joey hit E-flat major and smirked.

_Smoke set off the fire alarm_   
_That wasn't our intention_   
_Still, it didn't quite prevent_   
_Our first group detention_   
_Later on, we all agreed_   
_That it was worth the risk_   
_Of switching the announcements_   
_With a radio ad for Whisk_

_And I remember that one time_   
_The master plans got out_   
_Because Someone shoved them_   
_Up the wrong waterspout_   
_Now, I'm not pointing fingers_   
_There's nobody to blame_   
_That Someone's socks went through the wash_   
_And didn't come back the same_

Joey cringed and stopped playing, went back to messing with tuning. Something still didn’t sound right; it was as if the air was different there, the intermingling salt harsh in his ears. Okay, that was better—

_Brilliant, didn't we think_   
_It was brilliant_   
_I'm sure we pleaded brilliance_   
_At the time_

_Sorry if I've made it seem_   
_Like we're a bunch of klutzes_   
_I promise it isn't so_   
_If there's something you'd rather_   
_Keep out of our clutches_   
_It'll be the first to go_

_Just like Parker's favorite tie_   
_We're not sure where it went_   
_In the very end, that is_   
_On its journey through the vent_

_Brilliant, didn't we think_   
_It was brilliant_   
_I'm sure we pleaded brilliance_   
_At the time_

"I thought you didn’t like playing that one," Billy said, hovering over the papasan, hands in his pockets.

Joey kept playing, not about to be thrown off, longer interlude between verses than usual. "I don’t," he said, glancing down at his fingers, switching keys for the hell of it, "but it’s good to start. So..."

_In the end, I just don't think_   
_We stand up against defense_   
_I mean, for all the fun we've had_   
_We're really kind of dense_   
_For keeping on the kind of guy_   
_Who can't tell black from white_   
_While loading up his laundry_   
_And trying to pick a fight_

_Brilliant, didn't we think_   
_It was brilliant_   
_I'm sure we pleaded brilliance_   
_At the time_

_Billy, didn't he think_   
_It was brilliant?_   
_I'm sure he pleaded brilliance_   
_At the time_

Billy’s clapping drowned out the ending, which was annoying, because Joey prided himself on unconventional resolutions. He sighed and leaned forward, setting the guitar down inside the case.

Billy gave him a quizzical look. "What, show’s over?"

Joey scooted as far as he could to one side, patting the space beside him. "Intermission."

"Fine," Billy said, climbing into the bowl-shaped cushion beside him, and the wicker frame protested with a creak. "We’ll see how many gigs you get after this. I’m calling your agent."

Joey smirked, squirming around so he was half on top of Billy. "You _are_ my agent."

"Like I said." Billy rested his head on Joey’s shoulder, staring out at the water. "You’re on my turf, which means you’re out of luck."

"Am not." Joey wormed his hand from Billy’s shoulder down to his ass and gave a hard pinch.

"What the _fuck_ —" Billy floundered for a second, then grabbed Joey, tugging him into his lap. "Know what? You’ll never play in these parts again."

"Whatever you say," Joey said, and nuzzled Billy’s ear.

Billy relaxed under him and sighed, closing his eyes. "Slut."

"Easy bribe." Joey kissed his way down Billy’s neck and thought about transposition.

 

* * *

By Thursday, things had settled into such an easy rhythm that Joey could hardly believe a quarter of their time was over. He didn’t want to think about that, though, so he thought about the stuff they’d done over the past few days, sleeping in and goofing off and aimless walks up and down the beach. They’d gone swimming in earnest the evening before, and the ocean had given them a cold welcome.

"There’s still sand in my ears," Billy muttered, sticking his pinkie into his left one as far as he could.

Joey threw a couch pillow at him, and the game board balanced between them rattled perilously. "It’s your turn, loser." Joey frowned at the board. Billy was far better at chess than he let on, and it was a damned close game. He needed to call checkmate fast, but Billy’s stubborn pieces were in the way.

"Did you bring any Q-Tips?" Billy scraped some sand out from under his fingernail.

"Are we playing, or what?"

"Yes. Hang on..."

Ten minutes later, Billy called checkmate, and Joey flipped the board onto the floor in disgust.

"I hate this game," Joey said fiercely.

"Would you relax?" Billy said, bending to pick up the mess. "It’s _just_ a game."

"Yeah," Joey said, scratching his forehead. "But I used to be good."

"That doesn’t mean you’re not good," Billy said, setting the board and fallen pieces carefully on the coffee table. "It means I got lucky."

Joey bit his tongue on a rude remark, then sighed, leaning back against the cushions.

"I think we’re starting to get cooped up," Billy said thoughtfully.

Joey glanced at him sideways. "You think?"

"Well, besides the beach and fishing, yeah," Billy said. "We should go out tonight."

"Lead the way," Joey said, spreading his arms wide. "I don’t know shit about this place."

"I know this bar—"

"Unless you brought us fake ID’s, I don’t think that’s gonna happen."

"Joey, would you lighten up?" Billy said, grabbing his hand and shaking it. "These people _don’t card_."

"Last time you checked." Joey stared at the floor, irritated. What the fuck was wrong with him?

"It’s worth the chance," Billy said, stroking the back of Joey’s hand. "Trust me."

Joey looked up at him, forcing himself to smile. "Okay. Where are we going this time?"

The Inn at Duck Creeke was about as quaint as it sounded. Billy wasn’t interested in the Inn part, though—they headed straight through the semi-crowded restaurant and into a back room that seemed a world unto itself. Joey glanced around apprehensively, glad that Billy had decided they should wear nice jeans and pressed shirts. There was an air of informal propriety about the place—some of the patrons were dressed down, but hardly the majority—and Joey got the feeling that the eyes on them were the eyes of die-hard regulars. Ignoring them, Billy slipped into a chair at the bar, then pulled one out for Joey. The bartender wasn’t paying much attention; he was talking to a couple of young guys in baseball caps, maybe twentysomethings, a few seats down from them.

Billy fingered the placard menu briefly, then handed it to Joey. "Excuse me, sir."

"Hold up, son," the bartender said, taking a couple of empty glasses from the guys. "B’right with you."

Joey stared blankly at the list of beers and ales, not really seeing it. They could get in serious trouble.

"What can I do for you, gentlemen?"

"A basket of oysters, for starters," Billy said, completely under control. "We need some time."

Joey looked up in time to see the bartender smile and salute. "Can do, son. Can do."

"How do you _do_ that?" Joey asked under his breath.

"Tricks of the trade," Billy said, leaning over to read the placard. "Know what you want?"

"Those guys’ll probably beat me up if I order wine, won’t they?"

"They’d have to get past me first," Billy said. "Why don’t you try some ale?"

"It all sounds the same," Joey sighed, handing the list to Billy. "How about you order?"

"For both of us?" Billy asked dubiously. "You sure?"

"Yes, Billy," Joey said. "I’m fucking sure. If you don’t, I’m gonna look like a douchebag."

"Hey, okay," Billy reassured him, setting the placard down decisively. He waved at the bartender, who was talking to the other guys again—he must have known them. "Ready as we’ll ever be."

"Oysters’ll be up soon. What can I get you?"

Billy gave him an easy smile, then said, "Can I get a Harpoon I.P.A. and some Yuengling Lager?"

"Light or Traditional?"

"Traditional."

Once the bartender was out of earshot, Joey whispered, "So, which is which?"

"The Harpoon’s mine," Billy said. "You should know Yuengling, right? Pennsylvania?"

"Jersey isn’t Pennsylvania."

"Well, you’d at least have heard of it."

"I had no idea you pronounce it that way," Joey said, irritated.

The oysters came along a couple seconds later, breaded and steaming. Billy dug right in, taking more than a proper mouthful, and Joey picked one up, studying it intently. He liked clams, but again, anything bitter even in the slightest usually turned him. Oysters and scallops. Joey put it in his mouth and chewed, making a face at the counter. Not terrible, but Billy could hog them all he pleased.

"You guys from around here?" asked an unfamiliar voice.

Billy turned around first, and Joey couldn’t see the expression he was giving Baseball Cap Number One. "Boston area, you?"

Joey leaned over so he could see them better, and the guy talking looked smug. _Bastard_.

Cap Number Two was shorter, but he had a more astute look about him. "I heard your friend say Jersey."

"We go to _school_ in Boston," Billy clarified. That wasn’t exactly true, but if they could pass for drinking age, that meant they had to pass for college. _Shit_.

"Harvard treating you all right?" Number One had close-set eyes and an unkind look.

"Yeah, in fact," Joey cut in, taking a handful of oysters. "What about _you_?"

Billy sucked in his breath, but Number Two didn’t seem to notice. "I figure that education shit is kinda pretentious. No offense, you know? My dad makes a killing in the fishery business. Don’t need a degree for that."

 _Yeah, and my dad makes a killing_. Joey just nodded and popped a few oysters into his mouth, ignoring Number Two’s expectant look.

"So?" Number One asked unexpectedly, and Joey had the feeling it wasn’t aimed at Billy. "What do your folks do? Teach economics or somethin’?" The sneer in his voice was difficult to ignore.

"Tepper Construction," Billy said flatly, and Number Two made a noise of recognition.

"See, that’s more like it," said Number One. "Hey, buddy—I asked you a question."

Joey swallowed and turned his head, making an empty gesture. "It didn’t sound like one."

"That’s funny, you must be—"

"Yuengling and a Harpoon, boys."

"Thanks," Billy said, and took a drink immediately.

Number One looked at Joey again, wearing the same snide look. "Not so up on your booze?"

Joey took his glass and cradled it so his hands wouldn’t latch onto the table or shake. "You’ve never tried this shit in your life," Joey said steadily, then took a drink. _Don’t make a face, don’t make a_ —

"So? I know enough to know it sucks."

"Hey, man," said Number Two, "that’s—"

"I must be what?" Joey asked, interrupting him. He fixed Number One with a steady look.

"You ain’t a comedian," he said, almost like it was a pity. "That’s for sure. I was bein’ _sarcastic_. You know, when—"

"Yeah, when you don’t know your ass from a hole in the ground because you’re too piss drunk to know what you’re saying." Joey ignored Billy’s panicked look—thank God the guys couldn’t see it—and drank half his glass. Fuck this shit. If they wanted to play dirty, he would—

"Goddamn faggots," Number One said, almost low enough for Joey to miss it.

What happened next was a blur, but even afterward, Joey would remember it clearly. Billy choked into his glass, barely fumbling it to the table in time, splashing some all over his hands. Joey set his glass down calmly and got up, cold anger knotted in his stomach, and walked around Billy’s chair to the stretch of bar in between them and the assholes.

"Excuse me," he said, loud enough for the bartender to hear him over the running sink as he washed out glasses.

The bartender turned the sink off and grabbed a towel, rubbing his hands off. "Something else, son?"

"Yeah, the check," Joey said, and he turned around with a firm picture of the guy in his head, because he needed to see it before he actually confronted it, chill premeditation. _Ugly fucking prick_.

Number One was looking straight at him, just a foot away, close enough to take a swing at Joey if that was his intention. His stupid eyes glinted in the dim light as he said, "Looking for some action, huh?"

Joey raised his eyebrows and shrugged, then pulled a crumpled twenty out of his pocket. He reached across the bar and dropped it onto the stainless steel counter below, then drew his arm back at a wider angle, sweeping Number One’s glass of dark beer off the counter and into his lap with a splash.

"Billy, let’s go."

He remembered staring into Billy’s eyes for a split second before touching him calmly on the shoulder. He couldn’t linger because Number One hadn't been able to stifle his shriek, and he could feel Billy moving fast behind him, following, so he picked up his own pace and didn’t look back till they were in the restaurant proper, only to see Billy staring hard ahead, nodding and mouthing, _Go!_

They were halfway to the car before Joey stopped, heart hammering, and stared at the ground.

Billy was behind him in a heartbeat, one hand in the middle of his back, almost shoving him. "Joey—"

" _Billy_."

Billy’s hand dropped to the small of Joey’s back, shaking. "Listen, we’ve gotta get—"

"Walk," Joey said, collecting himself. He started for the car.

Billy unlocked the car, and they got in without a word. He put the key into the ignition and turned it, but he didn’t make any move to take the vehicle out of park. Billy gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles were white enough to match his face. Joey wanted to lean over and touch him, but he had to stay focused. He had to get them home.

"Now drive."

Billy nodded at the windshield, took off the brakes, and put the car in reverse.

The whole way back, neither one of them spoke. Joey didn’t look out the window, either. He stared down at his hands—clenched tightly in his lap, almost as if in prayer—and could feel where a few flecks of Number One’s beer had hit him. The memory burned his skin, but he didn’t try to rub it away. He had done it, actually _done it_. Cold-blooded and on a moment’s notice, he’d told that bastard to go to hell, but not in so many words. _If only he’d been so lucky_ , Joey thought.

They pulled into the driveway much sooner than Joey had expected, screeching to a halt. Billy turned the car off, and Joey heard him lean forward over the wheel, could tell he was breathing hard.

"Joey," he began, "I should have—"

"You should have _nothing_ ," Joey said firmly. He reached over and took hold of Billy’s right hand, squeezing it against the wheel. "We’re okay. We got out of there. They’re too macho to admit a couple of..." Joey trailed off and squeezed Billy’s hand again. _Why is this happening?_

Billy looked at him, _really_ looked at him, for the first time since the bar. "A couple of what?"

Joey let his hand fall, leaning away to stare out the window before the stinging in his eyes became more than just stinging. "A couple of younger guys," he whispered. "That's what I was going to say."

"I couldn’t say _shit_ ," Billy gasped, voice already broken. "I was—I couldn’t—"

 _Of course you were, and no, you couldn’t. That’s why_ I _did_.

Joey wrapped Billy in his arms and held him as if the world were ending.

 

* * *

"It’s not your fault," Joey murmured, resting his cheek against Billy’s heartbeat.

Billy made a choked sound—half laugh, half sob—and Joey imagined that he was still staring at the ceiling, still refusing to look at him, even though they were half naked and lying in the dark.

"Yes," Billy insisted, fresh tears at the edge of his voice, "it is. They saw me pull the chair out. They saw...lots of shit, I guess. _God_ , I fucked up. I didn’t think—"

Joey caught Billy’s hand against the pillow and forced it to be still. "Why the _fuck_ are you apologizing for this? Huh?" Joey lifted his head and squinted at Billy, glaring as best he could, given the lack of light. "You think I don’t appreciate that you go out of your fucking way to make me fucking happier than I’ve ever been in my entire _fucking_ life?"

As Joey’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, Billy’s hurt, shocked expression faded into outline.

"Forget it," Joey said, letting his head drop to Billy’s chest again. "I’m sorry. If this was Regis or New Haven or wherever, I’d be—"

"That’s the point, Joey. It’s _not_."

"That’s what I was trying to say," Joey said helplessly. "It’s not like someone would recognize..."

"Then why couldn’t I stand up to those shitheads?" Billy asked, full of self-contempt.

"Because I beat you to it. Let it go, okay? I can slay my own dragons once in a while, trust me. And how often do I get to stand up for you, anyway?"

Billy was silent, his fingers gentle on the back of Joey’s hand.

"I’ve never seen you speechless before. It’s weird." Joey turned his head so that his chin rested over Billy’s heart, finding the angle too awkward for eye contact.

"I’ve never seen you crush your temper like that," Billy whispered.

Joey hesitated; it was his turn not to say anything. Billy’s heart was racing.

"I just...didn’t know you in there, you know?"

"Was it so bad?" Joey asked, close to tears himself.

Billy ran his fingers through Joey’s hair unexpectedly, letting his fingers drift down to Joey’s nape. "No," he said softly. "It was fucking amazing."

"Didn’t feel like myself," Joey confessed, hardly more than a whisper, ice gathering in his stomach. "Like I can’t—I couldn’t—I might be just like—"

"Don’t say that. Don’t you _ever_."

"I could," Joey insisted, biting his lip, but it was too late. "I don’t want to, but I—"

Billy dragged him up and caught his mouth roughly in a kiss, rattling their teeth together. "You," he said harshly, "are _not_ —do you understand me?"

Joey bowed his head so the tears streaming down his cheeks wouldn’t hit Billy’s face. Shit, this was _too much_. "Billy, I don’t...I don’t understand _myself_ , okay?"

"Well, I know you," Billy insisted, stroking Joey’s hair. "And if there’s anything that you aren’t, it’s your dad."

The words hung over them like broken thunder, and Joey gave in. When was the last time that he had let himself cry? He couldn’t remember, but the tears came, choking wave after wave, like he’d never cried before in his life. Billy’s arms were full around Joey now; he was aware of that, but little else.

"It’s okay," Billy whispered, holding him close. "Joey, it’s okay..."

Joey gulped and got a lungful of pillowcase. "No—" he gasped before he could stop himself "– I lied."

"Joey?" At least Billy didn’t sound afraid. "About what?" he asked gently, still smoothing Joey’s hair.

"About who I kissed." _God, just kill me now_.

Billy made a confused sound, but his fingers never stilled. "So? You kissed a couple girls, who cares. I’ve kissed girls. It’s not like I respect you less—"

"I kissed a _guy_ ," Joey said miserably, and it caught in his throat, choked out on another sob.

Billy’s hand froze, but he didn’t take it away.

"I was so drunk," Joey went on. "Dean was drunk. I completely forgot about it. God, we were in, like, eighth grade or something...I found a note from him in my desk and I remembered..."

Billy turned his head and kissed Joey’s temple. "You think this _changes_ things?"

Joey sucked in his breath, panting, trying to get calm. "No, but it’s...how could I forget and not..."

"I don’t give a flying _fuck_ who you kissed!"

Joey’s mind raced, trying to clear itself and process what Billy was saying all at once.

"Hell," Billy said, sounding close to laughter, "I’m actually kinda glad."

Joey lifted his head, tear-streaked mess that he was, and gaped at him.

Billy was smiling-but-not-really, that look only Billy could give. "It probably kept you from freaking out," he said quietly. "Joey, _I_ freaked. All this time and I’m sure one of us was bound to—"

"Panic," Joey corrected him with a hiccup. "You panicked. That’s normal, man."

Billy slid his fingers back through Joey’s hair, bringing their foreheads together. "No more of this shit, Joey," he said, and Joey could tell that Billy’s own tears hadn’t really left him. "Are we okay?"

"Yeah," Joey said shakily, "mostly because Snuffy isn’t hiding behind the curtains with a camera."

"That douchebag won’t cough up the pictures that he claims he took in New Orleans. I don’t think they exist," Billy said disdainfully. "I don’t see when he would’ve gotten the chance."

"That’s the problem, though," Joey said. "Shit gets swept under the rug."

"Want me to raid his room again?"

"Hank would even help."

"He still owes me one," Billy said proudly.

"I bet," Joey said, and grinned, never mind how terrible he probably looked. "Want help? I know where he hides shit. I found all his porn stashes sophomore year."

"Joey, you’re wild," Billy said with mock reproach. "I’m not sure I can deal with this."

"Asshole." Joey ducked his head back to Billy’s shoulder, sniffling with disgust. "Dammit, are there tissues in here?"

"Nightstand," Billy said, and Joey felt him reach over. Something hard and cardboard-light knocked Joey on the head. "I’m not gonna wipe your nose for you, just so you know—"

"You," Joey said, grabbing the box, "are the biggest shithead I’ve ever met." He rolled off Billy and pulled a fistful of tissues out of the box, then buried his face in them. _Urgh_.

He heard Billy roll after him, felt Billy’s hand settle on his hip. "Aw, really?"

Joey threw the wad of used tissues on the floor, then pulled a few more. "Yes," he said emphatically, and blew his nose again. "You suck."

"Pretty hard, too," Billy agreed. "I give demonstrations, y’know."

Joey sputtered into the tissues, cracking up, helpless. "God."

"No, really," Billy said, snatching the wad of tissues out of his hand and tossing it after the others. He rolled Joey over, then hauled him back on top of himself. "Or we could just make out."

Joey shook his head, smirking. "That would require nakedness, which we still haven’t accomplished." His head felt clogged and heavy, and his eyes were sore, but Billy’s sense of humor was infectious.

"So?" Billy said, eyebrows raised. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of Joey’s boxers, tugging them down about an inch. "I’m a man of many talents."

"If by ‘many’ you mean ‘several,’" Joey said, instinctively placing his hands over Billy’s. He pushed at them lightly, and the boxers slipped another inch. He wasn’t completely hard, so there was nothing to catch—

"You’re terrible, you know that?" Billy asked, convincingly appalled. "Absolutely— _entirely_ —"

Billy wrestled Joey out of his boxers, then shoved off his own and kicked them to the floor without skipping a beat. Joey closed his eyes when Billy rolled flush on top of him, pinning Joey on his back.

"Jesus," Billy murmured in Joey’s ear, then licked it. "Like flipping a fucking switch." He wriggled, teasing at Joey’s almost-full erection against his thigh. "Joey...?"

Joey took a deep breath and opened his eyes, trembling. "S’good," he whispered. Almost embarrassing, how quickly being in this position could tear his sanity apart. _Safe, like this I’m safe_. He lifted his head and pressed his lips to Billy’s collarbone, then bit down.

" _Oh_ ," Billy muttered, lost in Joey’s tousled hair. "Oh, Jesus."

"Mmm." Joey squirmed, pleased with the hardness Billy pushed against his belly. "So."

"So," Billy echoed, lifting himself, "shut up—" he kissed Joey’s neck, then licked a trail down to Joey’s nipple "—and let me—" more licks and bites, oh _fuck_ down to Joey’s navel "—do this."

"Okay," Joey whispered hoarsely. Billy was still licking Joey’s belly, taking his time about it, but his hand was on Joey’s dick, just holding it and stroking his thumb up and down, up and down.

"You taste good," Billy murmured, and flicked his tongue into Joey’s bellybutton.

Joey jumped and squeaked. " _Hey_ —"

"Shhh," Billy whispered.

He nuzzled Joey’s hard-on, soothing kisses up and down, and Joey screamed.

 

* * *

_Fuck, gotta stop this_ , Joey thought, squinting against the brightness of the windows. He fished around in the covers beside him for Billy, who—naturally—wasn’t there. _Fucking hell_.

Joey sat up, ignoring how dizzy he felt and how crusty his eyes were, and staggered around until he’d found all his clothes (and Billy’s) from the night before. He dropped them into the makeshift laundry basket, then blinked out the window, staring at the stark, sandy beach. Fucking changeless sea.

To hell with getting dressed. Joey wandered into the living room, still naked, and found the television running, volume turned down almost completely. Irritated, he grabbed the remote from the coffee table and clicked it off. Fucking _shit_. If Billy couldn’t just fucking _be_ there after—

Joey heard the front door slam, immediately followed by Billy’s familiar cussing.

"You’re a jerk," Joey told himself, then raced across the room.

Billy was trying—so far unsuccessfully—to wrestle about eight plastic grocery bags into the house at once. Joey lingered at the top of the stairs for a few seconds, just watching him. He mustn’t have stifled his impulse to laugh as well as he had thought, because Billy’s head flew up fast.

"This has got to be the weirdest good-morning ever," he said, and one of the bags’ handles broke, scattering a bunch of cans and small boxes across the tile floor. "Fucking _shit_ —"

"I hear you," Joey said, dashing down the stairs. "Let me get that."

It took a while, but they got everything upstairs and put away in the kitchen. Joey was perplexed by a good half of the bags’ contents: what were they going to do with six boxes of mac and cheese? Surely not eat it all. He shoved them to the back of the cupboard, then turned around to watch Billy’s ongoing and epic battle with the refrigerator. The tomatoes didn’t want to stay inside, and neither did the milk.

"We’re overstocked, genius."

"Yeah, no shit, but you’re so picky and everything—"

"Get out of here," Joey said, exasperated, "and let me make some goddamn breakfast."

"I guess it’s true, what they say about Italian guys taking after their moth—"

" _Out_!"

"I," Billy concluded a short time later, crunching into his bacon, "am going to appoint you as my very own personal naked chef. And sex slave."

Joey gave him a good, hard kick from the opposite end of the couch, balancing his own plate precariously on his thighs. "There’s a reason you couldn’t get girls."

"Oh, I could _get_ them," Billy said nonchalantly, stabbing one of his eggs violently. "I just couldn’t keep ’em," he added, raising his fork in cheerful salute before taking a bite. Couldn’t keep a guy either, actually."

Joey dropped his fork, spattering runny egg yolk down the couch cushion. "You fucking— _what_ —"

Billy dropped his fork with a clatter, hand in the air. "Joey—"

Joey slammed his plate down on the coffee table, splattering more egg, then launched himself forward. "Last night when I fucking spilled my _guts_ to you, you couldn’t just—"

" _JOEY_!"

Joey took his plate away angrily, set it down beside his own, and pinned Billy to the couch with a yell.

" _This isn’t fucking funny_!"

"Joey, it was fucking _Truth or Dare_! A couple kisses, he told me afterward he was interested, but then I got expelled, and he wasn’t worth it—so—"

Joey collapsed on top of him, hammering the couch cushion with his fist. "Fucking _shit_." He was shaking, shaking, couldn’t _stop_ shaking, and if he could only work up the nerve to just _drown_ himself already, then maybe—

"You said we were okay," Billy said gently, rubbing his back. "Joey, I’m trying to make a—"

"It’s already made," Joey said. "I’m a fucking paranoid douchebag who blows everything out of—"

"Nobody else would ever, _ever_ make me breakfast naked," Billy said softly. "Nobody—"

"Yeah, well, nobody else had better, or I they’re gonna be in mortal danger."

"I know," Billy said, quiet now, _so_ quiet.

Joey looked up at him, breathing hard, refusing to blink. "Can you accept that?" he asked, voice flat.

For the first time that Joey had ever seen, Billy looked frightened enough to run.

"Yes," Billy said blankly. "Yes. But I know that’s never gonna happen, you’ll never have to—"

"You don’t know that," Joey said, so fucking serious that he hated himself all over again.

Billy was silent for a few moments, nodding his head slowly, glaring at the back of the couch like it had caused this confrontation, the one that he’d hoped they’d never have. He finally looked at Joey, reaching up to brush his cheek.

"I’ll take my chances," he said earnestly. " _You’re_ worth it."

 

* * *

"The trout hate me," Joey said bleakly.

"Of course they do," Billy said, yanking the hook out of a struggling sunfish. It shuddered as he dropped it in the kreel, flopping uselessly against the rubber interior. Billy closed the satchel and propped it back against the wooden post. "You’re a fisherman."

"Not like this is my day job," Joey muttered, not watching his minnow twirl grotesquely through the water as he reeled it back in. What a lousy Saturday for fishing. They were even calling for rain.

The kreel flopped violently, sprawling over onto Joey’s foot.

Billy glanced down at it remorsefully. "Sorry."

"S’okay." Joey cast his line again, then propped his pole against the fence. He bent down and righted the kreel, which still thrashed in his hands, then reached inside and caught hold of the sunfish. The spines of its dorsal fin cut into his palm, stinging. He flattened it firmly against the fish’s back, then stuck his free thumb into its gaping mouth. He used his knuckle for leverage and snapped its head back.

_There, out of your misery. Don’t understand how people can let you gasp for breath._

Billy made a strange sound, like sucking his tongue back from between his teeth.

They had fresh fish again for dinner, more trout than sunfish. Before they took cover from the raindrops, Joey had managed to catch one, plus another sunfish, and Billy another trout. Joey stared out the window while the fish sizzled in the oven, listening to the rain on the glass. He turned away and glanced into the living room—Billy was still watching Comedy Central—then started husking corn.

"What I don’t get," Billy said into his glass, breathing in the rain-damp air, "is how you keep getting away without playing that fucking song."

Joey choked on his first swallow of the merlot, finding it sharp, unbelievably bitter. "Where did your mom _get_ this shit?"

"Probably Lema’s," Billy said with a grimace. "I asked you a question."

"We keep getting sidetracked. That’s how." Joey swallowed half his glass, then groaned.

Billy took it away from him, then set it down on the deck. "Geez Louise, if you don’t _like_ it—"

Joey got up and smoothed his shorts, heading for the sliding doors.

"Where are you going?"

"Did you order a guitar on the rocks or what?"

Billy sat back, muttering into his glass.

Joey found his guitar near the fireplace, just where he’d left it, and brought it outside, sighing as the breeze picked up and ruffled his hair. Billy was staring out to sea, nursing the last of his merlot as if he couldn’t stand it, either, but wasn’t about to let it go to waste. Joey noticed that his glass, now on the railing, was empty, one last bit of dark ruby glinting as the sunset passed behind it.

Joey set the guitar case down loudly.

"I’m warning you," he said, sighing as he undid the clasps. "This song was supposed to be something pretty grand, but the lyrics got lame like halfway through, and no matter how strong the melody is, there’s no saving it until I get my writing back on track. There’s a reason I kept stalling. Move over."

Billy scooted over, tilting the papasan with a creak. Joey settled in as best he could—it was really cramped, especially with the guitar—and ended up in Billy’s lap with Billy’s arms wound around his middle. He stuck out his tongue and tuned the guitar, damn sea-air screwing with the strings again.

"How can you tell it’s in tune?" Billy asked.

"I’m not sure," Joey said. "Just can."

"Shit, you have perfect pitch?"

Joey’s cheeks heated, but he kept on fiddling with the keys. "That’s what they call it."

"Jesus fucking Christ."

"Do you want to hear this shit or not?"

"If you insult yourself one more time, I’m gonna smack you."

Joey gave the strings a brief strum, then skipped right to the first chord, singing,

_One foot in sea and the other on shore,_   
_the wind, it was too much to bear_   
_that still night._   
_Unable to ask you for more,_   
_I chilled as we lay where_   
_the Pleiades said,_   
_"They're so bright."_

_Unknowing stars make some kind of sense_   
_of the past, of right now, of this life_   
_that still night._   
_We found the Queen of Heaven intense,_   
_Her pale throne gilt with strife –_

_Even so, She said,_   
_"I'm all right..._

_"Save your eyesight and spare your Hail Marys;_   
_The Hunter bears more than all mankind carries._   
_Listen, my sons, he slays Dragon and Lion:_   
_For your strength and sake, I am calling Orion."_

_The Court was elusive; the Prince was off sulking_   
_because Snuffy lit up, forgot where he was going._   
_It's hard enough when it's clouds in your eyes,_   
_and Rigel agreed, what a rotten disguise_   
_for a galaxy tied up in knots while it's growing –_

_A belt strung with silver for Moon's dying lover;_   
_sew him a shroud of the Pleiades' tears._   
_All I could hear here on earth was Her laughter,_   
_"He'll rise again with the Wheel of the Years!"_

_That's what She said_   
_that still night..._

_"Save your eyesight and spare your Hail Marys;_   
_The Hunter bears more than all mankind carries._   
_Listen, my sons, he slays Dragon and Lion:_   
_For your strength and sake, I am calling Orion."_

"Oh, God," Billy whispered, barely audible over the ringing of the last chord.

Joey pressed his hands flat over the strings, staring down at his dangling feet, then cleared his throat.

"Tell me you didn’t write that. Tell me you couldn’t possibly have written—"

"What, about a bunch of fuck-ups?" Joey asked sarcastically.

Billy made a strangled sound and squeezed Joey tighter. " _No_ , it’s just—"

"Forgive me for having some fucking faith, okay?" Joey implored quietly, breath crowding in his chest. "I can’t unlearn it."

"No," Billy repeated, insistent, sighing over the sound of the waves. "I wish I could _believe_ like you."

Joey set the guitar down slowly, ignoring the scrape of wood on wood, and turned in Billy’s arms.

"I’ll believe for both of us," he said, and finally, gratefully, exhaled.


	17. Business

  


She's just cleaning up after him. It's what any mother would do.

The bed is still unmade, covers twisted this way and that. Barbara notices that the floor is clear—no more than a sock here, a shirt there—and she pauses by the dresser, momentarily puzzled by the absence of the air mattress. Surely the Trotta boy didn't sleep on the carpet? She collects the sock, then the shirt, and feels relief. _Joey_. Such a thoughtful one, not like Billy's other friends. He probably put the mattress away himself.

Stripping the bed is tedious work. Barbara thinks that she ought to hire someone, then reminds herself that Billy isn't home enough to bother. She tugs the comforter to the floor by one corner—so practiced—before noticing the sheets. Yes, this is why she ought to hire someone. Some days, she wonders why her only child couldn't have been a girl. One pillowcase—careful, by the corners—then the other. Not that she blames her son.

Barbara kicks the bedclothes aside, into the nearest corner, and heads for the closet. The door never quite closes (ever since Billy did _something_ to the hinge when he was ten,) and she can see inside. Billy never puts his things away neatly; he piles the boxes in haphazardly, leaving them unpacked till fall. 

_Efficient_ , she thinks. _Like his father_. 

When she opens the door wide, the topmost box, which must have been leaning against it, topples and lands at her feet. The heavy contents collide with her shins and crush her toes, and fleetingly she wishes that Billy could hear her yell. He needs to learn organization before his blunders catch up with him.

Carefully, she picks the box up by two opposing flaps—careful, always careful, the _dust_ —and sets it on the bare mattress. As she kneels to collect its contents, she regrets having worn a skirt, but what else was she to have done, what with the meeting? One hand on a textbook (French? What use did Billy have for that?) and the other collecting a deck of cards, she notices that the air mattress, deflated, under the bed. Crumpled up in it, if she's not mistaken, are the sheets that Joey used at Christmas. _Boys_. It's a shame about that one, lovely eyes and gorgeous hair, that he should have no more sense than Billy when it comes to bedclothes. But he'll age well, she can picture it. He's certainly more handsome than his father.

Barbara tucks her hair behind her ear, rising, and puts the book and the cards into the box. She sits on the edge of the mattress for a pause, amazed at how few things have actually fallen out. There's a stack of cassette tapes, a portable radio, a wind-up alarm clock. A watch that she doesn't recognize—Billy has too many of them, but only seems to wear one—and a shoebox. Reebok, from the tennis shoes he got two years ago for Christmas. He was always good about saving things and reusing them, at least. She notices that the box is taped shut, and she can tell at an angle that something's written on top in black marker.

Barbara bends to pick it up, and there it is: _JOEY_. 

When she shakes the box, it doesn't rattle. The sounds from inside are soft, solid, the familiar rustle of paper and cardstock. Perhaps one small item—maybe a pencil or a battery. Her fingernails catch the edges of the tape, and she knows she ought to be more careful. These are Billy's things, and he knows when they've been tampered with. Still, she's his mother, and there is identical masking tape out in the kitchen drawer.

The tape does not peel away cleanly. Barbara knows a lost cause when she sees one, so she tears the remaining strips of tape away as quickly as the bedspread, flicking them onto the mattress beside her. She does not hesitate before lifting the lid—why should she?—but her stomach flips as the contents are revealed. Cards, not the playing kind. Folded bits of lined paper. Scraps, sketches. This is not her son's handwriting.

Barbara gathers the bits of paper up and sets them aside, studying the front of the first card. Made of black construction paper, and the collage—glossy magazine clippings and bits of, surely not, watercolor—is disturbingly precise. This is not her son's work.

Billy has never mentioned that Joey is an artist, but the evidence is clear. Not just an artist, but a potentially _talented_ artist. Barbara digs down with her fingertips and lifts the stack of cards—three or four of them by the feel of it—all heavy and handmade. She sets them aside with the notes, then carefully picks up the pencil. Teal, not yellow, and the graphite is so soft that it leaves a smudge on her fingertips. Hers are not artist's hands, and neither are Billy's. But Joey's, deft and slim as they are, his easy touch—

 _My son can't be like that_ , Barbara thinks, stomach gone cold.

Carefully, she places the cards back inside the box. She gathers up the handful of folded notes—there are many more of these, perhaps seven or eight—and scatters them over the rest of the contents like dirt over a grave. As she lifts the lid to replace it, she notices something written on the underside. Uncanny, how her son is most present when he is _not_.

 _None of your fucking business, Mom_.

She replaces the lid, rises with the box tucked under her arm, and heads for the kitchen. 

It's what any mother would do.


	18. Without End

Billy brushed the grass off his hands and sat back on his heels. His feet and the knees of his leggings were soaked, but he'd gotten the tent up without much trouble. Score one for remembering _how_. He pulled the zipper up and down a few times, deliberately yanking too hard. Score two: it wasn't broken, and it wouldn't break easily.

Satisfied, Billy fastened the flaps up and crawled inside. Dull green and gray, but a panel of the sloped back wall was detachable—under that, a clear patch for letting in sun. He wrinkled his nose at the close, damp feeling and crawled out again, hoping the rain would leave. As far as he was concerned, it could storm right up until they left.

Brushing his hands off again, Billy bent to lower the flaps and zip them shut. No use letting bugs get in, and he'd be tearing it down again before tomorrow anyway. Not right now, though; he had to leave it up so he could show—

The sound of the screen door banging shut made him turn, instantly wary. Rather than his father, rushed back from the office to pick up something he'd forgotten, it was Joey. Standing there in his oversize plaid pajama pants and an old Mets sweatshirt (how could he be cold?) that Billy's father had passed on to Billy, he looked even more tired than he'd looked the night before. Only the death grip he had on—hey, that was Billy's coffee—gave any indication that he might be reasonably close to awake.

"Mmn-ing," Joey said into the mug, dark eyes vague over the rim.

Billy waved his hand at the tent. "How's it look?"

Joey set the mug down on the porch railing, licking the corner of his mouth. "It's a tent."

"You stole my coffee," Billy said, deciding to let the tent thing slide.

"It was there."

"You hate coffee."

"Your dad's idea of tea is Lipton," Joey said, cradling the mug again. "Iced."

Billy crossed the yard, then took the porch stairs two at a time. "You put a bunch of milk and shit in that, didn't you?"

Joey held the mug out and shrugged.

Billy took it and sipped— _way_ too much sugar—then set it down on the railing and reached for Joey. "Good morning," he said finally, contrite. Joey came into his arms so easily, breath instantly warm against Billy's neck.

"When the hell did you get up?" Joey asked. His fingers curled at the small of Billy's back, blunt nails pressing gently into Billy's bare skin. "Those look like tights."

"About eight," Billy said. "Just after Dad left. And no they don't, they're good for running." Joey smelled like coffee and restless sleep. "Sorry about the guest room."

"Old mattress," Joey said, clinging to Billy like he'd been ordered back to it.

Billy tried to remember what he was about to say, but his heart had hitched up a notch in panic. Joey hadn't arrived until well after nightfall, and he hadn't been very talkative even when Billy's father had chatted them up and ordered take-out. He never wanted to see that look on Joey's face again: clearly crestfallen as he vanished behind the guest room door. His father had been working a late night in the kitchen. Not worth the risk.

"Mine's not," Billy said softly, and Joey nodded.

Even after they'd gotten into bed, Joey was restless. Billy held him as close as he could, only to be awakened from dozing every few minutes or so by Joey's constant shifting. Joey finally sat up and peeled off the sweatshirt, then the t-shirt he'd been wearing underneath it. Jesus, layers in weather like this. He looked at Billy for a few seconds, almost thoughtful, before saying, "Your tights are wet."

"Stupid grass," Billy said. He sat up and peeled them off, kicking them to the foot of the bed, intensely aware that Joey was watching him. "Did I get you damp?"

"Kinda," Joey said, only the faintest smile in his voice. Billy rolled back onto the pillow just in time to see him strip down the rest of the way, plaid pants and froggy boxers in a twist with the covers. Joey crawled into Billy's arms, tugging the sheet up over them.

"Cold?" Billy murmured, reflexively rubbing Joey's back. _What's wrong?_

"Yeah," Joey sighed. "It's the rain."

"Must've stormed again during the night, the grass is soaked."

"Yep," Joey said. "Till about three in the morning."

 _Oh, Joey_. Billy traced the line of Joey's forehead, stroking his hair back. "You should go back to sleep."

"I want to," Joey said, too pensive even for himself.

Before he could bite his tongue, Billy blurted, "Are you having nightmares?"

There it was: Joey's eyes closing, his breath fading. "I wish it was that easy, Billy."

"You wish _what_ was that easy? Nightmares aren't—"

"It's not a nightmare," Joey said. "Pretty fucking real, in fact."

 _Shit, shit, shit—breathe!_ "Joey?"

"Have you been listening to the news?" Joey propped himself up, elbows on either side of Billy's chest. The wild look in his eyes was already starting to fade, the way Billy noticed it did when Joey got the chance to unburden whatever was bothering him.

"Not much," Billy admitted. "Same old Desert Storm aftermath, same old boring-ass President—"

"Smaller stuff," Joey prompted, and Billy could swear he hadn't blinked at all.

"Um…Hedy Lamarr was arrested on shoplifting charges?"

Joey didn't look amused, not even slightly.

"Joey, I—"

"Sorry," Joey said unexpectedly, averting his eyes. "You wouldn't have heard it, probably. I shouldn't expect…"

_C'mon, Tepper, think. Dad had the fucking radio on all yesterday morning, they were running highlights—that big soccer star retiring, then something about the FBI –_

"This undercover Fed went missing last week, right?"

"Right," Billy said, regretting that last sip of coffee.

Joey was still looking at the wall, but somehow, his voice was steady. "Well, he's dead."

"You mean they found…?"

"No, but I know he's dead, okay?" Sharp now, words quick as gunfire.

Billy opened his mouth, then shut it again. Nothing could fix this. He stroked Joey's cheek helplessly, trying to turn his head. Times like this, he wished he could smack—

"Alert's out for New York City area," Joey said, meeting Billy's eyes without warning. "The house hasn't been under security this tight since… It's a miracle I'm even here."

 _Which would explain the phone-tag and the delay and…_ "That son of a bitch."

"Don't look so sorry," Joey said. "Call him whatever you want, like I fucking care."

Billy's stomach churned. "I didn't even realize…"

"You wouldn't have known," Joey repeated, and set his lips against Billy's cheek.

For a while, fitfully, they slept.

* * *

"What? You're _where_? Snuffy, I can't—the phone's cutting — look, could you put Hank on? He's not driving."

Billy looked up from stuffing clothes into his duffel bag, frowning at Joey, who had been pacing around the bedroom with the phone ever since it rang five minutes ago. Joey stopped in his tracks and gave Billy an exasperated look, twirling his index finger at the earpiece end of the phone. _Lost_ , he mouthed.

"Give him to me," Billy said, holding out his hand. Joey tossed it to him gratefully and went back to rearranging his own stuff.

"...no, we should've turned—Joey, d'you guys have a map? Hank brought the wrong—blow me, you did _too_ —"

"Can I help you?" Billy asked.

"Dammit," Snuffy muttered. "Yeah, Billy. We're fucking _lost_."

"So I heard," Billy said casually, sitting down at the foot of the bed. Covers chaotic, sheets a mess. Screw what his father thought, if he thought anything: Joey had stayed with him last night, and they'd been careful about showing up to breakfast separately. If nothing else, David Tepper could make killer waffles.

"Idiot, I'd like to see _him_ try—"

"Joey's the reason we didn't get lost on the way to the Cape," Billy cut him off, irritated.

"Oh. Well, you've never driven out of D.C., have you?" Snuffy sounded as petulant as ever. Hank said something in the background, but Billy couldn't make it out.

"No, but if you have a goddamn map and could give me an idea of what highway you're on—"

"—the phone, Hank, Jesus! You're supposed to be figuring out—"

Billy covered the receiver with his hand and lowered the phone, returning Joey's wide-eyed stare. "They're gonna wreck before they get through Pennsylvania."

"Is that where they are?"

"Didn't say," Billy said, "but Pennsylvania lasts for-fucking- _ever_."

"I-80," Joey agreed in a mournful tone.

Billy put the phone back up to his ear. "Are you gentlemen respectable now?"

"Yeah," said Hank. "Okay, here's the deal..."

 _Thank God_. Billy heard him out: apparently he'd figured out where the hell they went wrong while Snuffy was busy driving and panicking, and the car phone was getting bad reception on account of the mountains and trees (damn Pennsylvania), but he knew where they were and he was going to make Snuffy pull over so _he_ could drive. Billy heard Snuffy let loose a string of curses and protestations. God, if the gang ever did a road trip, how would they _survive_?

"We'll see you guys in a few hours," Hank said. "Technically, something like four."

Billy glanced across the room at his alarm clock. Ten thirty. Hopefully, Phil and Ric would make it before then; they had a shorter trip from Providence. Ric had flown to Rhode Island the day before, and Billy envied him the relative civility of the Donoghue household. The twins, according to Phil, were sickeningly good kids.

"Wild ride, huh?" Joey asked, flipping the lid of his guitar case. "I guess we have nothing on them."

"Nah," Billy said, tossing the phone on the floor. "You bringing that?"

Joey ran his fingertips over the instrument, checking for...for what, really, Billy didn't know. He touched that instrument like he touched people he knew and trusted, familiar and confident for all his protestations otherwise. Billy would never forget holding Joey while he played about Orion, not as long as he lived.

"Yeah," Joey said. "As long as the weather report's not calling for more rain."

"The tent's waterproof," Billy said.

"The tent's _small_ ," Joey said dubiously, closing the case again.

"C'mon, it's not that small."

"I'll have to sleep on top of you," Joey said gravely. "I hope you don't have a problem with that."

"I don't know," Billy said, trying to keep a straight face. "That's a pretty tall order." _Useless_.

Joey grinned for what seemed like the first time in ages, and Billy decided that if they were calling for rain, he'd have to hunt down whoever made the weather—hell, he'd appeal to the Queen of Heaven herself—and make it stop. Joey had to play for them. They had to find out if they didn't know already: they were stars.

"Billy?"

"I, um," Billy said, shaking himself. "Sorry. Thinking."

Joey had that rare, gentle smile on his face. "You look happy."

"I am," Billy said, reaching for him. "I just remembered, it's not gonna rain at all."

"Good," said his lap-ful of Joey, and packing didn't seem so important anymore. "Because if there's even the slightest chance it might..."

Billy kissed him quiet; no more of this tiresome sadness. Joey was with him now, and the guys would be with them, and they'd be in the middle of fucking Hudson Valley nowhere for a full five days at a campground his dad had renovated a few years back. And he'd keep Joey the rest of the week after that if he could...

His father never knocked quietly.

Joey groaned and twisted out of Billy's arms, landing hard on the carpet. "Thank God you didn't inherit his sense of timing."

Billy grimaced at Joey and smoothed his shorts out. "Yeah?" he asked the door.

"I heard your phone ring," David said. "Anybody showing up early?"

"More like late," Billy said, bending to help Joey to his feet. "Hank and Snuffy got lost, but they're back on track again."

"You'll want to make sure they're all here by at least two," David continued. "You want to get there before evening."

"Dad, it's like, what, two hours from here? Relax."

"You'll want time to stop for dinner," David said. "Or your friends will, anyway. There's this Italian place in—"

"It's awful," Billy said. "We went there. I remember. It sucked."

Joey bit his lip, not quite hiding his amazement.

"Then you'll find something else, I'm sure," David said. "Just be sure you check in at the grounds by six."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Billy shouted, tapping his foot. _Goddamn it, Dad, go away_.

When his father didn't answer after a few seconds, Billy figured they were safe. Joey pushed him back onto the bed unexpectedly, knocking the wind out of him, and he managed a startled laugh and another kiss before he thought better of it. Phil had said that his mother was dropping him and Ric off around noon.

"We'd better finish packing," Billy said, trying to ignore Joey's hand on his thigh.

"No comment," Joey said, and kissed him before getting up again.

* * *

"I'd just like to say," Ric said, tossing his bag down on the floor, "that this place is a sight for sore eyes."

Phil made a face, trying to hide his laughter behind his hand.

"Whatever," Billy said, stooping to pick up Ric's bag and set it up against the wall with Phil's. "I can't wait to leave."

Joey was outside on the porch, arms folded across his chest, walking around the parcel of nylon and zippers and handles that was Phil's tent. "Did something happen?" he asked, peering in at them through the screen door. He gave Phil a quizzical look. "Are you gonna share, or what?"

"Erica's in love with him," Phil said, grinning. "She painted him a pic—"

"Wow, you are so dead," Ric said in disgust.

Phil just cracked up.

"She's what, ten years old?" Billy said, shrugging. "What do you care?"

"She wouldn't leave us alone for five minutes!" Ric said indignantly. "Have you ever tried to brush your teeth with a kid in pigtails and ducky slippers sitting on the hamper behind you and chattering away about My Little Ponies?"

"Wouldn't leave _you_ alone for five minutes."

"I can't believe I'm sharing a tent with you."

"No room in ours," Joey said, opening the door and stepping inside. "My guitar case has already evicted us."

"Dude, you brought it," Ric said, instantly distracted. "Does this mean we get to sing 'Kum Ba Yah' all night?"

"No, it means you idiots get to shut up while Joey provides us with some class entertainment," Billy said. "I don't know about you, but I can't sing worth shit, so I'm just gonna sit back and enjoy myself."

"You haven't played in a while," Phil said thoughtfully. "I remember last spring..."

"The acoustics in the rec room suck," Joey said, closing the door carefully behind him. "End of discussion."

"You shouldn't have let Josh get to you," Ric said. "He's a jealous jerk, that's all."

 _Josh? Oh, wait –_ "McAllister did _what_?" Billy demanded, locking eyes with Joey.

Joey glared at Ric. "It was nothing," he said. "Forget about it."

"If I recall correctly," Phil said, "he laughed and called you a—"

"It was nothing," Joey repeated, cold as ice.

 _McAsshole just booked himself a back-to-school prank_ , Billy thought, chewing his lip, still looking at Joey. Couldn't hold him right there in the open; Billy's father was making lunch in the kitchen, and he'd already interrupted once. Also, as stupid as it was, he didn't know if Ric...

"I swear, I wanted to punch him for you," Ric said. "I used to get that from guys back at home, because I danced."

"Like that proves anything," Joey said, letting his head fall back against the door. "People are so fucking..." He stopped and sighed.

Billy stared at the floor, unable to think of something to say, something to fix it.

"I'd never hold it against you," Ric said, plain as day.

Joey opened his eyes and tilted his chin down, staring straight at Ric. "What?"

"What do you think I am?" he asked, glancing from Joey to Billy, then back to Joey again. "Stupid?"

"No," Billy said quickly, stomach lurching in elation. "Of course not, you know, s'just—"

"For God's sake, you can _tell_ me shit," Ric said, actually offended. "After all that...those...stories in New Orleans, you'd think..."

"I'd never hold those against you," Joey said, stepping away from the door to offer Ric his hand. "Either. Ever."

Billy watched them shake hands, stomach doing little somersaults. In the end, how could it be so easy? For every ignorant fuck in the world, he decided, there had to be at least a couple guys like Ric. Or Phil. Or Hank and Snuffy, but that was just a little bit different; thinking about those two made Billy's head hurt.

"Are you guys done yet?" Ric asked no one in particular. "I'm starving."

"Yeah," Hank said. "Kitchen's that way, right?"

Billy looked at Joey, but Joey didn't look as if he needed any reassurance, so he just raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "Yeah, sure. That way."

"Remind me to get Ric a nice Christmas present," Joey said under his breath, holding Billy back while the other two headed back the hall.

Billy nodded and squeezed Joey's hand. "Remind me to get him a fucking _medal_."

Lunch was cold-cut sandwiches, another thing that Billy's father had a knack for. Ric expressed a little bit of guilt that they were eating without Hank and Snuffy, but as soon as he saw the chipped ham and pickles, he forgot all about it. Joey stood there wrinkling his nose at the tray for two whole minutes before plucking a piece of wheat bread onto his plate and piling it up with provolone, turkey, lettuce and tomato. Phil took just about everything he could fit.

"Billy, don't take all the bologna," his father called from halfway down the hall, mouth full of ham on his way to the office.

"Nobody else wants it!" Billy protested, trying to get the mustard to cooperate.

"Like hell nobody else wants it," Phil said, snatching up all that was left.

"Hey! That's—"

"Plenty of turkey," Joey said smugly, then swallowed.

Billy wrapped his foot around Joey's ankle under the table, satisfied to hear him choke.

Hank and Snuffy arrived just as they were finishing up, over packed as usual. Snuffy dumped his stuff on top of Ric's and Phil's, giving Billy a brief pat on the back before following the others' voices to the kitchen. Hank took the time to right Snuffy's stuff beside Phil's and add his own shoulder bag to the pile.

"Any of that lunchmeat spoiled?" Hank asked, eyeing the last bit of sandwich in Billy's hand.

"Nah, Dad's kind of anal about the fridge. Why?"

"One less guy," Hank said, jerking his thumb at Snuffy's back. "We'd have more room in the car."

"Fuck you!" Snuffy said, not even turning around.

Billy clapped Hank on the shoulder and shoved him along to the kitchen.

* * *

What his dad needed a Suburban for, Billy didn't know, but he'd had the car for a good few years, and Billy had learned to drive on it. Navy blue with a hideous pale blue stripe going the whole way around—"Ow, my eyes," being a direct quote from Joey, about summed up the vehicle's overall effect.

"You could fit ten people in this thing," Snuffy said, staring in amazement. "Not counting the driver."

"You're only supposed to have seven passengers," Ric countered, helping Billy lift the cooler into the back, "plus the driver. One in front, three in the middle seat, three in back."

"You could cram two in front if you had to," Phil said thoughtfully, shifting from foot to foot, arms full of his tent.

"You sure your dad doesn't mind us leaving the car?" Hank asked.

Billy turned around and brushed his hands off, taking Phil's tent. "Nope," he said. "You can even pull it in here as soon as we've got the Suburban backed out."

"You're gonna have to back Snuffy's car out of the driveway just to do that," Joey told him, leaning over the back seat, settling his own stuff into place. Snuffy was already sprawled on the middle seat, not paying much attention. His tent and bags had been the first to go in. "Oh, your shit's still in the house. Want me to get it?"

"No, I can do that," Billy said, slamming the back shut. He reached through the window and brushed Joey's hand, jiggling the guitar-case handle. "Forget anything?"

Joey rested his chin on his forearm, still leaning on the seat. "D'you have a transistor radio?"

"No," Billy lied, feigning regret. "Sorry."

"I don't know about you, but I don't _want_ to hear anything about civilization," Hank said, opening the nearest door and climbing into the middle seat beside Snuffy. "This is my first real camping trip, and I plan on doing it right."

"Get out," Phil said, climbing into the back with Joey. "You've never been?"

"I've only done it a couple times, if it makes you feel any better," Ric offered. "And I live where it's warm all the time."

"I went with my uncle once," Joey said, settling into the back-left window seat so that all Billy could see was the back of his head.

"That's _it_?" Snuffy asked incredulously, addressing everybody. "I've been camping more times than I can count."

"Yeah, and I bet you sneezed more times than you can count, passed out, and don't remember shit," Billy muttered, locking up the back. "Are we ready?"

"Your stuff," Joey reminded him, glancing back over his shoulder.

Ric stood with his hands on his hips for a couple more seconds, surveying the seating situation. "Is anybody—"

"Shotgun!" Joey shouted, lurching forward over the middle seat.

" _Ouch_!" Snuffy yelled. "That's my—"

"Forget it," Ric said, climbing into the back while Joey crawled into the front seat and Snuffy sat rubbing his arm.

Billy turned and went back in the house, admitting to himself a measure of relief that the garage was so dark.

They got on the highway somewhere around three o'clock, which was actually better timing than Billy had been expecting. Joey was quiet for the first half an hour, cheek pressed up against the window. He didn't even complain when Billy popped in an oldies mix tape—though Snuffy did, and loudly.

"Excuse me, are you the driver?" Joey said before Billy could tell Snuffy to shut up himself.

Snuffy made his classic I'm-offended-now face (Billy had to tear his eyes away from the rearview mirror before he went off the road), then leaned forward. "Oh," he said, "that's just great, the passengers' opinions don't count for shit. Who died and made _you_ God?"

"God," Joey answered, still looking out the window. "I don't love this stuff, but do you see me crying about it? Shut up and read your porn."

"I'll read it if he doesn't," Hank said, and there was a rustle of pages.

"Hey, I'm not finished with that!"

"You guys are starting to piss me off," Ric said loudly, like he was wearing headphones.

Billy chanced a sidelong glance at Joey, sighing. "Long ride, huh?"

Joey slid his hand across the seat and traced the seam of Billy's shorts. "Yep," he agreed, and smiled.

* * *

"Ten minutes," Billy said, turning off the ignition. "Got it?"

"Fifteen," Snuffy said, out of his seatbelt like a shot. "I need a smoke."

Billy unbuckled himself and looked over at Joey, who was sitting there tapping his pencil point against a blank notebook page like he had been for the past ten miles. "Hey," he said, lowering his voice, as if anyone could hear him above the noise of the others getting out of the car anyway. "You want something?"

Joey set the pencil down and stretched, squinting through the windshield. "Nah," he said, meeting Billy's eyes. "Just gonna move around."

"You sure?" Billy asked, opening his door. "I've gotta fill the tank anyway."

"I'm good," Joey said—God, his eyes, so tired—then opened his own door and hopped to the ground.

Billy tried to listen to what Phil and Ric were talking about while the gas pumped, but they were too far away, and they were probably just bitching about Snuffy anyway. Billy chewed his lip, scanning the parking lot for the others. Joey was scrutinizing the beat-up old phone booth near the main entrance, evidently reading graffiti, and Snuffy was nowhere to be seen. Smoking out back, Billy guessed. Hank had gone inside the convenience store, muttering about needing a drink.

"Fourteen fifty-three, will that be all?" The cashier thought she was pretty, but she wasn't all _that_ pretty.

"Yeah, that's it," Billy said, handing her a twenty. He watched her make change, then studied the lottery tickets behind her when she started to blush.

"You guys goin' somewhere?" she asked, stuffing the bottle of Coke and two candy bars into a bag. She held it out, expectant.

Billy took a low hold on the bag, pulling it out of her grasp so their hands wouldn't touch. "Camping," Billy said, and started for the door.

"It's gonna rain in a few days," the girl said, lowering her eyelashes. "Hope you won't be out that long."

"Five days," Billy said, momentarily shocked by the contrast between air conditioning and humidity as he pushed the door open. "Thanks."

When he got back to the car, Snuffy and Hank were already in the middle seat, same places as before. They were actually sharing a magazine, a new one, which was progress, Billy supposed. At least they'd be occupied for a while. Joey was sitting on the curb beside the gas-pump, intent on chasing something around with the tip of his toe—maybe an ant or a spider, though he didn't seem to be trying to squish it. Phil and Ric were standing not too far away, each one holding a can of something. Joey stood up when Billy got there, hands in his pockets, trying a little too hard to look as if he hadn't been up to something, that Billy hadn't seen.

"Got you a Twix," Billy said, handing him the bag.

Joey gathered it to his chest and peered inside, almost grinning. "I told you I didn't need anything, asshole."

Billy stepped closer—hell, he could get away with that now—and brushed his fingers against Joey's cheek, leaning for a brief kiss.

Joey startled, almost dropping the bag, but he didn't pull away. " _Asshole_ ," he repeated, and even that close Billy could tell his cheeks were darkening.

"Yo, you want me to drive a while?" Phil asked.

Billy turned around quickly, rubbing his forehead. "Um, yeah," he said, then stopped himself, standing up straight. "Wait, wait, no—have you driven one of these?"

"Dad has a truck," Phil said. "It's fucking huge. Close enough."

Billy shrugged, rummaging in his back pocket for the keys. "I guess, as long as you're sure—"

"Shotgun!" Ric cried, dashing past them.

Joey put up his free hand, fingers splayed in surrender. "Sure."

As it turned out, Ric wasn't a bad navigator. No big deal; all he and Phil had to do was shout back if they got confused, and Billy was awake enough (thank God for caffeine) to keep an eye out in case they took the wrong exit. Joey had his notebook out again, and this time, he was actually doing something—reproducing what could only be graffiti, only he was trying to arrange it like a song, or a poem, Billy couldn't be sure. Ric announced that his tape was going in now, but nobody wanted to protest. Hank and Snuffy were pretty much ignoring everybody else, and Phil was a curiously silent, no-nonsense kind of driver. When the music started, Joey's head flew up, his eyes alert with recognition.

"Didn't know you had this," Joey said.

"Yeah, I knew it was somewhere," Ric said, turning up the volume, gradual as the acoustic pulse. "Actually, your poster reminded me."

"U2?" Billy ventured.

"You bet," Ric said, and started drumming against the seat.

Joey set the sketchbook aside and scooted over, humming under his breath. Billy knew that he'd heard this before, enough times that he probably knew some of the words. He thought of telling Joey to buckle up, but Joey was leaning on Billy's shoulder now and singing under his breath. Billy wondered if he could cover the song.

"I want to run, I want to hide..."

Billy snaked his arm around Joey's shoulders, pulling him in close. Screw the seatbelt. They were going almost sixty, and Joey _was_ God, clear-voiced melody in his ear and soft breath against his neck. He'd have to listen to this more often, or maybe he'd just have to listen to Joey more often. Whichever. Billy realized that he knew enough to at least try singing along, but the result was off-key and Joey knew it, half-stifled laughter breaking his careful tenor.

"And when I go there, I go there with you," he said, dropping to a spoken whisper. "It's all I can do."

"Yeah," Billy agreed, and this time, Joey didn't have any compunctions about kissing at all.

"Hey, Phil, could you take the next exit? We need to get these two a room."

Billy would've broken away to say something harsh enough to make Snuffy regret what he'd said, but Joey held him there, fingers tight in Billy's hair, and the ensuing ruckus—hoots from Ric, whistles from Hank, a groan from Snuffy—indicated that Joey had put his other hand to precise and eloquent use.

* * *

"Hey, this isn't Tarrytown," Snuffy said, leaning over the back of his seat. "I want my money back."

"It's this turn-off?" Phil asked, glancing up at the rear-view mirror.

"Yep," Billy said, then shifted so that Joey's sleeping weight wasn't crushing his arm as badly as it had been for the past forty minutes. "What money?" he asked.

"You said this place was in Tarrytown," Snuffy said. "You know, Sleepy Hollow and all that good shit. This exit says fucking Ancram."

"Jesus, it's like twenty minutes south of here," Billy said. "Close enough. We have a car, for crying out loud. We're gonna go, trust me."

"I wish it was October," Ric said to no one in particular.

"Billy, what next?" Phil asked, sounding kind of nervous.

Joey stirred, half-murmuring in complaint against Billy's neck. Billy rubbed Joey's shoulder, then said as loudly as he dared, "No more turns. You're looking for signs that say Lake Taghkanic State Park. Lake Taghkanic anything."

"Can anybody say 'Salute Your Shorts?'"

"Shut up, Snuffy!" Billy wasn't sure exactly how many of them said it, and it was a fucking miracle that Joey didn't wake up. He glanced out the window just in time to see the sign. "There," he said, tapping on the window. "That's what we want."

"Check," Phil said, and flipped the turn signal.

The main parking lot wasn't too crowded, especially for August, but it wasn't deserted, either. Trucks, Jeeps, a bunch of other various and sundry SUV-type vehicles. Phil turned off the ignition with a sigh of relief, and Ric punched him in the arm as if to say, "Well done." Snuffy undid his seatbelt and dropped down on the floor, rummaging around for his magazines, and Hank stretched with a loud yawn.

"Where're we?" Joey mumbled.

Billy brushed his lips against the top of Joey's head, working his hand down between them to unbuckle his belt. "We're there," he said. "Didn't know you were awake."

"I've been awake since 'Salute Your Shorts.'"

"You watched too much TV on the Cape."

"I don't watch enough at home," Joey said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "Let's get out of here. I think my whole left side's asleep."

By general agreement, everybody but Joey stayed behind to keep an eye on the car. Billy led the way to check-in, eyes fixed on the yellow patch of light across the parking lot. He glanced down at his watch, and Joey said, "Quarter till seven—that's not bad."

"Bad enough," Billy said. "We didn't even stop for dinner."

"What's in the cooler?"

"Nothing perishable, I was planning on stocking it once we got here."

"So," Joey said, jogging up the steps ahead of Billy to get the door, "we set up camp, get a fire started, make Snuffy and Hank keep it going, then I'll go with you to the store."

"I'm glad _somebody's_ got this figured out," Billy said. He took hold of the door himself and shooed Joey inside. He had always thought it incredibly unfair that the owners had air conditioning. Didn't that defeat the purpose?

Billy was surprised to discover that he remembered the guy at the desk—well, more or less. He looked a little bit older and heavier, and a lot shorter than before. He pulled a map out of a holder near the register, opened it, and traced out directions to their campsite with a blue pen. Joey was silent, following the drawn arrows with interested eyes.

"You're all set," the guy said. "Tell Dave I said hello, would you?"

It took Billy a second to realize that he meant Billy's father. "Yeah, sure. Thanks."

"Scott," the guy said kindly, as if he knew Billy didn't recall his name and didn't particularly blame him. "He'll remember me."

They could only get so close to the campsite with the Suburban. Billy pulled off alongside the dirt road, and they all piled out. There was the trail, complete with a wooden signpost that said _CAMPSITE 13_. Snuffy laughed and said something indistinct about _some luck we've got_. The trees made it seem darker than it actually was—dusk was just barely beginning to fall—and the sound of actual wildlife was startling. You could only get that if you snuck off campus and into the woods, and at home in the summers, well, housing developments mostly sounded like dogs and cars and kids playing.

Billy walked around the car and opened the back. "Wanna give me a hand here?"

"Yeah," Joey said, but he didn't move. He was staring up at the branches and leaves, transfixed.

Setting up camp was tough work, and Billy had the nasty feeling that they weren't going to be eating till nine—or worse, not at all. The trail was well-cleared, but dusty, and it took about five trips to get everything hauled back the quarter-mile trail. Snuffy sat down on his tent, wheezing, and refused to do anything more, so the rest of them just ignored him and got down to business. Joey was quiet, still obviously tired, but damned if he didn't have their tent halfway set up by the time Billy finished helping Phil and Ric sort out theirs. Billy ran the short distance, felt sticks cracking and lurching up to scratch his shins, then stopped, panting.

Joey looked up from fitting the last pole into the corner of the canvas, and the whole tent rocked like an upturned boat when he let go. "What?"

"I, um..." Billy gestured uselessly, still trying to catch his breath.

Joey stood up and flipped the tent, smiling at him. "Wanna give me a hand here?"

The real problem, it turned out, was Snuffy's tent. Much to his chagrin, he couldn't remember how to set it up, and it was—Billy couldn't fathom this—more complicated than any tent had the right to be. In the end, it took Ric and Phil to lure Snuffy away to search for tinder while Joey stood there like an overseer giving careful orders to Billy and a frazzled Hank. They got the fucking thing assembled, though, and Billy thanked Whoever was listening that either Ric or Phil knew how to start a fire. He smelled the smoke before he saw flames reflected in Joey's dark, patient eyes. Without a word, Joey took his hand and hauled him up.

"We've got, like, a triangle going on here," Snuffy said, hands on hips, surveying the way the tents were positioned around the fire circle. Billy was glad the stones were already there. One less thing to worry about, though sending Snuffy off to look for big, heavy rocks was pretty tempting.

"Yeah," Joey said, stepping up to the fire and extending both hands as far as the heat licked out to meet them. "We kind of, like, do."

Snuffy scowled, but one look from Billy and he didn't say anything.

"So, I don't know about the rest of you guys," Phil said, wrestling a rusty old lawn chair open, "but I'm fucking starved."

"Me too," Hank agreed.

"Me six, enough already." Snuffy was crouching right next to the fire, poking at it with a stick.

"Your pants are gonna catch on fire," Ric observed, extending one foot to kick Snuffy lightly in the ass.

"Dickhead!"

Billy came up behind Joey and watched the flames for a few seconds, sighed, then asked, "How about that food run?"

The market charged an arm and a leg for hot dogs, but that was the way of small tourist establishments. Joey wandered up and down the aisles with a basket of his own, putting in random things that Billy hadn't even thought about: the tin-pan kind of popcorn you can do over a fire, Fruit Roll-Ups, a loaf of bread and the makings for PB&J. Billy stopped trailing him and decided he had better find condiments and stuff for s'mores before Joey did.

"Hey," Joey shouted from the next aisle over. "Plastic silverware and shit in case somebody forgot his mess kit?"

Billy thought of Snuffy and groaned. "Yeah, and trash bags!"

When they got back, the fire was miraculously still burning. Ric had pulled up a chair beside Phil's, and they talked quietly, Phil prodding the logs every so often with a long, makeshift walking stick. Hank was busy putting up a clothesline—hey, Billy had to give him credit for that—and Snuffy was nowhere to be seen.

"What've we got?" Ric asked eagerly, dashing over to help Billy and Joey sort out the bags. "Hot dogs, popcorn, chips— _fruit snacks_?"

"Not everybody's got Joey's sweet tooth," Phil called over his shoulder, twisting around curiously in his chair. "S'mores?"

"Yeah, what do you take me for?" Billy asked, throwing the bag of marshmallows at him.

"Moron on a good day, bastard on a bad one," Snuffy said, emerging from his tent with the brightest fucking flashlight Billy had ever seen. He shone it in everybody's eyes before turning it on the contents of the bags. "Hey, Fruit Roll-Ups! Nice!"

Joey snatched up the two boxes and gave Snuffy a warning look. "Maybe if you're a good boy, I'll share."

Billy shouldn't have been shocked, but seeing Joey incinerate just about everything he put on the end of his stick _was_ alarming. Careful Joey, perfectionist Joey, do-the-goddamn-job-right Joey—all that went right out the window when it came to roasting shit over an open flame. Billy stared at the half-eaten hot dog on the aluminum plate in front of Joey, able to see how charred it was even through the ketchup, and then glanced back up at the flaming marshmallow that Joey was bringing up to his face.

"Hey, be careful with—"

Joey huffed the flame out without seeming to have taken a breath. "Hmf?" he asked, biting the marshmallow right off the stick.

"Never mind," Billy said, and rummaged around beside him. "Who's got the marshmallows?"

From his chair on the opposite side of the fire, Phil knotted the bag and tossed it.

"Watch it," Ric said. "We'll lose all of them."

"Nice throw," Joey said around a mouthful of hotdog, picking at a piece of leaf stuck in the loose weave of the old blanket he and Billy were sitting on.

Snuffy snapped his roasting stick and tossed it into the fire, then slapped his stomach. "I'm stuffed."

"Asshole, we could've saved that stick," Hank pointed out, and judging by how annoyed he sounded, he'd probably done the whittling.

"So sue me."

"For your share of Fruit Roll-Ups, you bet."

"Hey, knock it off," Ric said, leaning forward to spread his hands over the flames. "I don't know about you, but I came out here to _enjoy_ my vacation."

"I've decided not to share," Joey announced, scooting a little closer to Billy.

It was almost weird, this sudden...permission that they had. Billy brushed his hands off and set his plate farther away from the edge of the blanket, then slipped his arm silently around Joey's waist. In the pitch dark, Phil and Ric were the only ones with a good view anyway, being directly across the fire. Snuffy and Hank were directly across from each other, Snuffy to Joey's left and Hank to Billy's right, too busy glowering through the flames to care. Damn, they needed help.

Phil made a face, clearly teasing, and tossed a marshmallow at Billy.

"You people are wasteful," Joey said, fumbling around in Billy's lap till he found it.

Billy almost jumped. "Hey, watch..."

Joey stuck the marshmallow in his mouth and perched his chin on Billy's shoulder. "Hmf?"

"Never mind," Billy muttered. _I hope everybody's turning in soon, because you're gonna pay for this_.

"I didn't see that," Snuffy said loudly. "I _definitely_ didn't see—"

"Shut _up_!" Stereo-sound, staggered and deafening.

"Okay, okay. Jesus." Snuffy produced a magazine out of the inky darkness beside him and started to read.

"You're going to get eyestrain," Ric said.

Snuffy stiffened, glared at Ric for a few seconds like he meant to say something scathing, then threw the magazine on the fire and stalked away.

"Hank guilt," Joey said under his breath, more of a thoughtful observation than any kind of jab. "Wasteful, I tell you," he said so everyone could hear.

"Yeah, well, it's not you who's gotta tent with his ass, so I'd better go see what I can do," Hank said. To Billy's amazement, he stood up, tossed his paper plate and napkins onto the fire, and headed off in the same direction that Snuffy had.

"Is it just me," Ric said, leaning forward in his chair, head tilted thoughtfully, "or do those guys need to lay off the magazines and _get_ laid?"

Phil hit Ric hard in the shoulder, groaning. "That's a mental image I didn't need, thanks!"

"What, like it's any different from knowing...?" Joey made a vague gesture at himself and Billy. Strange, to see him be so forward.

"It's plenty different," Phil said, standing up and stretching till his joints cracked. "Who would want to imagine _Snuffy_ —"

"Okay, that's just sick," Ric said, tipping Phil's chair back so his ass hit the ground instead.

" _Ow_! What the _fuck_ —"

"Bedtime," Joey said decisively, standing up before Billy could properly let go of him.

"What time is it, anyway?" Ric asked.

"Time for dickheads like you to learn some manners," Phil said, brushing his shorts off. "Cradle-robber."

"Oh, you are _so_ —"

"Yeah, sounds good to me," Billy said, collecting Joey's plate along with his own.

The first thing that Billy noticed was that Joey's guitar wasn't in the tent. He shoved the sleeping bags around, scanning with his travel flashlight, and poked his head back out. "You forgot—"

"Left it in the car," Joey said, kneeling to crawl inside. "I'm stupid, didn't think of that in the first place. You locked it?"

"Yeah," Billy said, patting the keys in his pocket.

"Okay. Move your ass."

Good thing they weren't keeping the guitar in there—it was almost crowded anyway, and Joey kept bumping into Billy or accidentally kicking him as he tried to straighten his sleeping bag out. Billy hunched back into one corner, indifferent about his own, and watched Joey finally give up and start to untie his shoes.

"We could open 'em both up," Billy said, tugging one of his sneakers off. "Spread one out, cover with the other."

Joey wrinkled his nose in Billy's direction, then tossed both pairs of shoes outside the tent before zipping it shut. "We could."

It made a pretty nice arrangement, Billy had to admit, especially with the two egg-crates underneath. Joey kept fussing with the pillows, and it was all Billy could do not to laugh. He waited till one of Joey's feet came close enough, then yanked the sock off. Joey wheeled around, skewing the sleeping bags.

"Douchebag, what the fuck are you—"

Billy caught him and pinned him down, trying to get at his other sock. What he got instead was a pretty good elbow in the ribs and an earful of Joey swearing before Joey went absolutely still on top of him, collapsed with a content sigh. The flashlight glowed harmlessly against the wall of the tent, forgotten in the scuffle.

"Warm in here," he managed, prodding at Joey's sides. "Gonna suffocate."

"You're subtle," Joey muttered, sitting up. He shifted his weight so he straddled Billy's hips instead of his stomach. "Better?"

"Mm, yeah," Billy said, reaching down to tug at Joey's other sock.

Joey wrinkled his nose again. "What the fuck is up with your foot fetish, man? I thought we'd gotten past this."

Billy stuck out his lower lip and sniffled. "I thought you accepted me for who I was!"

"Whatever, Billy." Joey reached down and removed the sock himself. "Better?"

"Yes," Billy said, satisfied, lowering his voice. "You can't be naked if you're still in socks."

Joey's eyes went wide as saucers. "Billy—"

"For fuck's sake, lighten up," Billy said, sliding his hands under Joey's shirt and along his waist. "I thought you were okay with this."

"I am," Joey said, "but I don't think you are."

" _What_?"

"You're only stupid about shit like this, swear to God," Joey said, bending down to kiss him. "I meant you're too loud."

Billy felt relieved and indignant all at once. "I am not!"

" _Shhh_." Joey nuzzled his neck and licked it, sending shivers down Billy's spine. "You can't whimper like that," he whispered.

Billy tightened his grip on Joey's hips, only nodding.

What happened next was like something out of memory, too new and too familiar all at once. Joey sat up and pried Billy's hands away, settling them firmly at Billy's sides, then peeled out of his shirt. Billy heard his earring hit the sleeping bag separate from his shirt, but Joey didn't seem to care, just sat there looking down at Billy intently, arms braced on either side of Billy's shoulders. He was sure he hadn't remembered to blink _or_ breathe, so he did both, eyes shut tight.

He felt Joey bend down again, marshmallow-breath warm on his face. "You hear anything?"

Billy listened for a few seconds, then opened his eyes. "Talking. Hank and Snuffy, maybe Phil in the background."

"That's how they hear us," Joey said. "So, we be careful, got it?"

"Yeah," Billy said softly, reaching up to ruffle Joey's hair. "Can I kiss you now?"

Joey lowered his head, almost shy. "Do you think you have to ask?"

Billy shrugged, running his palms up and down Joey's back. "Don't know, I just thought..."

"You never did before," Joey said, serious.

"I guess not," Billy said, and the whole situation was suddenly, painfully arousing. "So, can I?"

"Yeah," Joey said softly, smiling like Billy hadn't seen him smile since...shit, since _when_?

Joey didn't seem to mind when Billy gave him a gentle shove, and it wasn't graceful in the least, any of it, trying to kiss and sit up and separate all at the same time, fumbling with zippers and buttons and Billy's stupid t-shirt. In the end, Billy was down to no clothes and one sock on, one sock off, when Joey crawled into Billy's lap and wrapped arms and legs around him, a warm, sweat-damp armful. Billy shuddered and forgot himself, whimpering against Joey's mouth.

"Can't do that," Joey whispered, then opened his mouth for another soft, wet kiss. "Flashlight off," he added, tensing.

Billy fumbled around with one hand till he found the damn thing, clicked it off clumsily. He wrapped both arms around Joey again, pulling him in tighter, wincing at the awkward crush between them, yeah, that hurt a little. Joey just barely swallowed a laugh, sliding his fingers down Billy's chest until he could touch them both.

Billy curled his toes into the nylon and gritted his teeth, breathing harshly. "Joey..."

"On second thought, maybe they'll wonder why we got so quiet," Joey whispered, flicking his tongue against Billy's earlobe. He gave Billy's cock a squeeze, then let go, wriggling impossibly closer. Oh, what the _fuck_ had they gotten themselves into?

Billy couldn't see any other option, so he kissed Joey as hard as he could, fingers winding in Joey's hair, digging into his back. Different, _so_ different, except for the way Joey tasted and the way it felt when Joey rocked against him. Billy knew that and how it went and couldn't do much about biting Joey's lip when he came about ten seconds later, shaking all over with the sob that caught in his chest. Joey hissed and shoved him onto his back with a hard thrust.

"Fuck, fuck, Billy, shut up, fuck, shut _up_ —"

"Shhh," Billy whispered, held him, and took his turn to laugh.

* * *

"I can't cook," Phil said despairingly.

"No," Billy said, watching him flip a badly-burned egg and some pieces of cut-up hot dog onto his plate. "You definitely can't."

Joey came over from the cooler, toting the milk jug, which was dripping from the mostly-melted ice. "Sorry, man. Not eating that."

"You guys are babies," Ric said, spearing some hot dog pieces out from under Phil's nose. "Go on and have your cereal."

"Okay," Joey said, already cross-legged beside Billy, shaking Cheerios into his mess bowl.

Billy yawned, deciding maybe he wouldn't have breakfast. It occurred to him that he should try to remember where the showers were, because they all looked like shit—or worse, ridiculous. Joey hadn't bothered with socks, shirt, or to lace up his shoes, and the fact that he had on Billy's jean shorts didn't help matters. Billy was in boxers and his t-shirt, barefoot, and Phil and Ric both looked like they'd just slept in their clothes. Hank and Snuffy weren't up yet.

"Does this place have showers?" Ric asked, echoing Billy's thoughts. "Or a lake?"

"Both," Billy said, "but I don't think the lifeguard would appreciate you taking a bath."

"Yeah, but the chicks wouldn't," Ric said, winking.

"Erica kept begging to come along," Phil said, cutting a piece of egg with his fork.

"Would you just _stop_ already? And here I'm being all nice, eating this _shit_..."

"Ah, the sound of bickering in the morning," Snuffy said, wandering up behind them with a yawn. He put a hand on Ric's shoulder and bent down, looking instead at Billy. "People will say you're in love."

"Okay, I think we need to set down a few rules," Joey said, glaring. "How about everybody minds his own fucking business and nobody gets a sharpened stick up his ass."

Snuffy put his hands up in the air, as if in surrender, grinning. "My point exactly."

"You _asswipe_ —"

"OKAY!" Billy shouted, getting between Joey and Snuffy before somebody got dragged across the coals. "Shut the fuck up and eat your breakfast, got it? Both of you."

Joey sat down again, eyes glued to the fire.

"What have we got for grub?" Snuffy asked, not quite challenging.

Phil grabbed the frying pan and shoved it in Snuffy's face. "Bon appétit."

The showers were about half a mile away, which was irritating as fuck, but there wasn't much Billy could do about it. By the time they'd finished eating, Hank hadn't even showed his face yet, so Snuffy announced that Billy needed to lead the way for whoever was going to get fucking cleaned up, unlike _some_ people (this said with a glare at Phil, who said, who the fuck was Snuffy, his mother?). Joey tilted his head at the tent, picking at the shorts he had on, and Billy nodded.

Locker-room style facilities, not exactly immaculate, with a few single stalls for guys who liked privacy. Joey hung his stuff carefully on one of the hooks and toed out of his Chucks, looking kind of worried. Billy shivered and turned one of the faucets, hit instantly by a forceful jet of freezing water.

"Jesus!"

Snuffy turned another one at the far end of the chamber and squawked.

"I'm gonna try one of the stalls," Ric said, thwap-thwapping away dubiously in his flip-flops.

Billy kept his distance until the water hitting his hand was actually lukewarm, then turned on the next one over. "Wait a couple seconds, Joey."

Joey stood perched in the entrance, leaning against the tile wall, even more disconcerted than before. Snuffy had just given up and stepped under the spray, teeth chattering. Billy made a face, moving his hand back and forth until both shower heads were spewing as close to hot as they would reasonably get.

"S'okay now."

Joey set down his shampoo, draped his washcloth over the bottle, and followed Snuffy's example. He faced the spray directly, then spit out a mouthful, grimacing at the wall. "I'll never complain about Regis again," he said, turning to blink at Billy, rubbing water out of his eyes. "Never."

"Get over it," Snuffy said, already shampooing his hair. "This is home, sweet home for the next week."

Joey tilted his head, eyes narrowing for only a second, before looking back at Billy. "Yeah, I guess it is, isn't it?"

"Yup," Billy agreed, bending down to get his soap caddy.

Joey stepped on it. "No hurry. We're at home, remember?"

 _What the_... "Oh," Billy said, understanding. "You're right." Billy grabbed him by the shoulders and kissed him, which was probably the meanest thing he'd ever done to Snuffy, but _fuck_ , Snuffy deserved it, and Joey thought so, too, because he was laughing against Billy's mouth, not even trying to hide it.

"Jesus _fucking_ Christ," Snuffy spluttered. He walked out, dripping wet, with shampoo in tow.

"You're so mean," Billy said, grinning.

Joey bent down and scooped up Billy's soap, then offered it to him. "What're you talking about?"

When they got back, Hank and Phil were sitting in the armchairs. They were both in fresh clothes, and they had Billy's map spread out between them.

"Hey, you went through my stuff," Billy said indignantly.

"Just for the map," Phil said, glancing up briefly. "Trust me."

Billy knew he was probably blushing. "Okay, fine. What'd you find?"

"Trails," Hank said. "Phil thinks we ought to go exploring, learn the terrain."

"We probably should," Ric said, cracking the plastic ring off a bottle of water. "Are we far from the lake?"

"You have a one-track mind, don't you?" Phil asked.

"I'm going back to bed," Snuffy said, stalking past them.

"No, you're not," Hank said. "You do and your underwear will end up _in_ the lake."

"Oh, score," Joey said, giving him a double thumbs-up.

"I hate you all!" Snuffy shouted, muffled inside his tent.

* * *

Phil's idea was good right up until Billy realized that they were royally, hopelessly lost. They'd been walking for about an hour, following this branch-off and that on complete and total whims, because how hard could it really be to get back as long as they had the map? The problem was, Billy concluded, that Hank, not Joey, was the one reading it. He didn't dare glance back over his shoulder, because he knew he'd see Snuffy's worst told-you-so smirk if he did.

"We keep passing people," Ric said, bending to examine a plant with triple clusters of spiky-edged leaves that he probably thought was poison ivy. "We can't be that disoriented." He kicked the plant with the toe of his soccer shoe. Billy considered telling him it wasn't dangerous, but didn't.

"Well, I got news for you," Hank said, frowning at the map, "but we're either here—" he pointed to one complicated system of trails "—or here, and I don't have a damn clue which."

"Great," Joey said, patting a tree trunk before sitting down against it and settling his sketchbook in his lap.

"Of course," Snuffy said, hands on hips. "That would just figure, wouldn't it, since you're the only one who can get us back?"

Joey shrugged, taking the pencil from behind his ear.

"Snuffy, just chill," Billy said, walking over to peer over Hank's shoulder at the map. "Hey, if we cut off this way," Billy said, tracing a line through the woods on the page, "I think it'll bring us out at the lake."

Phil wandered over and looked at the map upside-down, fiddling with a half-skinned twig. "We could eat there, right?"

"Yeah, there's a concession stand," Billy said. "But who actually brought money?"

"I did," Ric said, and Joey raised his right hand, waving it lazily.

"So, are we gonna do it?" Hank asked, waving a fly away from his face. "You're the one who's been here before, Billy."

"Yeah," Billy said, "but I was, like, thirteen or something. I could be remembering wrong."

Without a word, Joey tucked his pencil back behind his ear and got up. He walked over to where the rest of them were huddled around Hank and the map, leaned over Billy's shoulder, and frowned. He looked up in the direction that Billy had indicated, licking his lip, and Billy felt sick when he noticed the mark he'd left.

"Yeah, I think it's that way," Joey said. He tucked the sketchbook under his arm and started walking.

Billy caught up with him, leaving the others to their sulking or nosing around or whatever the fuck they wanted to do. "Hey, is that sore?"

"What?" Joey asked, giving him a funny look.

"Your, um," Billy said, gesturing at his own mouth. "You know. When I..."

"Shit, really?"

Billy looked away, feeling terrible that his second impulse was to grin. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

"Damn," Joey said, and Billy could hear that he was trying to feel it with his tongue. "How big th'it?"

"Not bad," Billy said, working up the nerve to look at him. "Just, I feel...dunno, stupid."

"You've got worse things to feel stupid about," Joey said.

"Oh, like what?"

"Forgetting your way around. I mean, geez, how dare you?"

"Mean," Billy said, but Joey grabbed his hand before he could pull the fake-crying thing.

They found the lake about half an hour later, glistening ahead of them through the thinning trees, just where Billy said it would be. There was a sort of man-made beach, unnaturally white sand and a lifeguard's stand—some guy about their age, it looked like, tanned and wearing a floppy fisherman's hat. A couple of little girls playing near where the sand ended and the grass began pointed when Ric stepped out of the woods, and Phil was only a few strides behind him, snickering. Snuffy broke into a run, already halfway to the log-cabin concession stand and changing facility. Joey held Billy back, fingers still laced tight with Billy's.

"We'll have to go swimming," he said.

"You bet," Billy said. "Maybe tomorrow?"

"Hell, or every day," Joey said. "Fucking schedules. I'm sick of them."

Billy squeezed his hand in agreement, then let go reluctantly. The little girls' mother was watching them warily, as if it wasn't every day that a bunch of teenage guys randomly stepped out of the woods and onto the beach, let alone ones holding hands. It probably wasn't, and given the way Ric was already looking at some of the sunbathing women, Billy didn't blame her. Phil was busy shading his eyes, looking out across the lake to where there were some kayakers and fishermen.

"You hungry?" Billy asked Joey, nodding at the concession stand.

"Kinda," Joey said, but his tone was more of a _yes_.

Between Ric's ten dollars and Joey's twenty, they managed to buy an arrangement of stuff that everybody could agree on. Fries, onion rings, chicken strips, a hamburger, and three sodas. Snuffy kept the 7-Up jealously close, and Billy noticed that Hank was the only person who didn't catch hell if he wanted a sip.

"Shoo!" Phil shouted, waving his arms wildly at a yellowjacket. "Get out of here. That's right. Shoo."

"Pretty soon you'll have it answering by name," Ric said with his mouth full. "Cut that out."

"Fucking bug wants my food."

"Actually, I think it wants some soda," Joey said, scooting as far back from the tabletop as he could, eyes wide as it landed on the communal Pepsi.

"Anybody allergic?" Billy asked, waving it away with his hand. He thought he felt the faintest brush of wings.

"Me," Snuffy said, looking genuinely afraid.

"Shit, man," Joey said earnestly, "that sucks."

"Gee, thanks," Snuffy said flatly.

Joey set his jaw and took a sip of Pepsi, glancing over his shoulder at the beach. "Anybody know the hours?"

"I think it closes at seven or eight," Billy said, and he couldn't help but feel proud. Joey had more courtesy, when it came down to it.

After they finished eating, Hank suggested they should walk around the lake. Billy pointed out that the lake was fucking huge and that it would probably take them a whole day, which they definitely didn't have—it was almost four o'clock, much to everybody's dismay. Joey suggested trying to find the stream they'd passed once they cut off the trail, but Snuffy was vehemently against going back the way they'd come. He insisted that he could get them back to camp using the map.

Using the map, as it turned out, took them by a stream anyway. Joey set his notebook down carefully beside the trail, then went straight for the sound of running water. Snuffy groaned, but Billy, not inclined to remind him of that morning, ignored him and followed Joey. Phil seemed curious, too, wielding his new find, a makeshift walking stick, ahead of him. Hank followed because he was outvoted, and Snuffy...well, he just followed Hank. Maybe they were helping themselves.

Joey was already in the water, shoes abandoned on the creek bank. The water was swift and up to his shins, and Billy had to resist the urge to dash down and grab his elbow—the rocks in the creekbed looked fucking slippery. He watched Joey bend down and carefully pry a large one up. The water clouded with pale silt.

"Saw a crayfish," Joey explained absently, squinting intently as the current cleared.

"A what?" Hank asked.

"Crawfish, crawdad, whatever."

"Ouch," Snuffy said. "Ever get nailed? Wicked suckers."

"Mmm— _hm_." Joey's hand darted underwater and came up again, fingers pinched furious white on something small and thrashing.

"Dude, no way," Ric said, sounding stricken. "Put him back."

Joey stood up straight, eyeing the crayfish with strange satisfaction. Its claws strained back over its antennae, waving ineffectually. Joey's thumb and forefinger had it in a headlock directly behind them, no chance in hell of it harming him at that angle. He glanced at Billy, holding the critter out to him.

"Um, no thanks," Billy said, but he couldn't help but wish they had something to put it in.

Joey shrugged and bent down, dropping it in the water. "I'm gonna come back and catch a bunch," he said. "Dinner."

"That's fucking sick," Ric said, and started back for the trail.

"Does it taste like lobster?" Phil asked hopefully.

"Even better," Hank said, happy as a kid at Christmas.

* * *

"I almost forgot it's Sunday," Snuffy said, making a face as he harpooned a skittering crayfish through the thorax. " _Gotcha_."

"I had nothing to do with this," Ric said, all hunched up in one of the chairs. "I had nothing to do with—"

"God, would you just stop?" Billy asked, already roasting two on the end of his stick. "You're gonna make me feel guilty."

"Not me," Hank said, turning three over the flames, relishing the crackle and hiss as air bubbles escaped the shells.

Joey was fishing around in the bucket, trying to pick out a few for himself. Billy couldn't believe it, but he'd come back with fifteen of them.

"I'm glad to get out of church for once," Phil admitted, pulling the bright red tail off one of the cooked crayfish on his plate. He peeled it apart curiously, eyes brightening at the sight of lobster-white flesh. "Cool!" He popped it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

"Your folks are big on that stuff, right?" Billy asked, taking his crayfish off the fire. They looked done.

"Yeah," Phil said dully, swallowing. "Both lifelong Unitarians, all enthusiastic and shit."

"That must be nuts," Hank said, shaking his head as he picked apart a dismembered claw.

"Dude, I thought your grandma was all holy-ass Baptist," Ric said, crayfish forgotten.

"Yeah, but that's grandma," Hank said. "My parents don't give a shit about church."

"But I remember you said you believed in God," Snuffy said, dropping a hot crayfish onto his plate dubiously. "In New Orleans."

"So? Just because I don't go to church doesn't mean I don't believe in God."

"True," Ric said. "We only go to Mass on holidays. Grandparents included."

Joey finished skewering his crayfish and set them to roasting, curiously silent.

"We're Christmas and Easter, too," Billy said, flicking a bit of reddened shell off his thumb. "Episcopalian." The tail was chewy and sweet, like lobster and not. Wilder, more foreign. He'd seen crayfish on menus before, but he'd never had the guts to try it, let alone try cooking his own.

"I don't know what the fuck we are," Snuffy said absently, staring up through the trees. "Protestant something. Maybe agnostic by now."

"I read they don't do services in the Old Dutch Church anymore," Joey said unexpectedly, carefully turning his crayfish.

"What?" Ric asked, looking up from unwrapping a Fruit Roll-Up.

"In Sleepy Hollow," Joey clarified, directing it at Snuffy. "They don't do services in the church anymore, but they'll let you in on appointment."

"Get out," Snuffy said. "That kind of sucks."

Joey shrugged, tapping one steaming crayfish with two fingers before easing it off the stick.

"We should be able to do that at the Chamber of Commerce," Billy said. "I think I have a brochure somewhere."

"What kind of church is it?" Phil asked curiously, then licked his fingers.

"Dutch Reformed," Joey said. "Hell if I know."

"You're such an ass," Snuffy said. "That's exactly what it is."

"Okay, so that's what it is."

"Somebody been brushing up on his Irving?"

"It's not _in_ Irving," Joey said, stuffing a crayfish tail in his mouth. "Just says a church."

"Hey, Billy," Snuffy said, giving up on Joey. "I bet you'd like the story."

"I know the fucking story," Billy said, mildly irritated. "I've heard it every Halloween since I was five."

"Okay, fine," Snuffy said, eyes glinting in the firelight. "What's the name of Ichabod's rival?"

"That's not fair," Ric said. "I don't even remember the dude's name."

"He played the best prank in history, though," Billy said. "That's all I care about."

"Actually, Odysseus played the best prank in history," Joey said, picking apart another crayfish.

"He—" _Holy shit, yeah_. "Whoa. Well, okay, the Horseman comes in second."

"Brom!" Ric shouted triumphantly, snapping his fingers at Snuffy. "Brom Bones. Ha."

"Sure, but what's his _real_ name?" Snuffy asked smugly. He tossed a handful of crayfish-bits into the fire, shooting a challenging look at Hank.

"Don't look at me," Hank said, busy inspecting what was left in the crayfish bucket. He wrinkled his brow in concentration; it was getting dark.

"Abraham Van Brunt," Joey said. "Can we just stop this shit?"

"Very good, my friend," Snuffy said without a single trace of derision, eyeing his last crayfish with relish. " _Very_ good."

* * *

The first sound that Billy registered was Joey's breath, soft and close to his ear. The second was rain on the tent, angrily splattering the waterproof canvas.

 _I hate it when girls are right_ , he thought.

At least there wasn't any thunder. Joey stirred, pressing in closer against him, nose buried in Billy's neck. Billy ran a hand up under Joey's shirt, separating the damp tie-dye from his skin. Under any under circumstances, heat and that kind of closeness would have been uncomfortable, but the rain was gentle, and if Joey was waking up, maybe Billy could convince him to go out in it. Probably not. Joey hated getting wet on anybody's terms but his own. That time he pushed Joey into the Regis pool fully dressed, Billy had never seen anybody so angry in his life. He grinned.

"What?" Joey muttered sleepily.

"You’re the lightest sleeper in the world," Billy said, massaging between Joey's shoulder blades.

"You laughed."

"Yeah, I did."

Joey lifted his head, squinting. "Why?"

"Because you look funny," Billy said, brushing Joey's mussed hair out of his eyes.

"Whatever." Joey lowered his head to Billy's shoulder, sighing. "S'raining."

"Mm," Billy said, still rubbing Joey's back.

"Guess we can't swim today."

"Maybe if it clears up."

"Is it supposed to? You told me it wasn't going to rain."

"It wasn't supposed to," Billy insisted. "Fucking meteorologists."

He felt Joey smile against his shoulder. "This is, like, the worst thing that can happen on a camping trip, isn't it?"

"No," Billy said, thinking. "Getting raided by raccoons is worse."

Joey laughed, lifting his head again. "That happened to you?"

"Yeah, one of my trips up here with Dad," Billy said, staring at the ceiling. "Two of 'em. We think they had babies somewhere. Bonnie and Clyde."

"What did they steal?" Joey asked.

"Graham crackers, bread," Billy said, trying to remember. "I think a can of something."

"Some good that'd do," Joey said, then kissed his cheek. "I hear they like shiny things, though. Like crows."

"I thought it was ravens," Billy said absently, sliding his hand down to Joey's hip.

"No, it's crows," Joey insisted. "Mom's cousin had one from a baby. It used to steal shit right out of their grandmother's jewelry box and drop it in the yard. Necklaces stuck in the lawn mower and everything."

"Um," Billy said. "Okay, crows."

Joey squirmed, sort of a full-body shrug, and kissed Billy's ear.

Billy had been wondering if anyone else was awake, but it didn't seem so important. The rain was still falling hard, maybe harder, and it was getting too warm to stay in clothes, boxers or not. Billy tugged Joey's shirt up till it caught under his armpits.

"Little help here?"

Joey laughed, untangling himself so he could sit up. Billy reached and tugged down the panel so they had some pale, grayish light through the trees overhead. Joey tossed his shirt at the tent flap, then crawled back under the sleeping bag.

"Cold now," Joey remarked, burrowed against Billy's chest.

Billy stroked through his hair, holding him. "You're nuts."

"That a suggestion?"

"I can't believe you said that. That's something _I'd_ say."

"How tragic."

"I hate you."

"Do not," Joey said, curling up tighter, completely under the sleeping bag.

"Do too," Billy insisted, but it was difficult to say that with Joey's hand up the leg of his boxers. "I can't stand you. Can't believe I was desperate enough to put up…um, with…"

Joey trailed his fingers lazily back and forth across Billy's inner thigh. "Huh?"

"I hate you," Billy said, and sucked in his breath.

"You're repeating yourself," Joey said, muffled under the sleeping bag. He shifted around so it tented up over his head, almost slipping off. His right hand wormed its way up Billy's other thigh, and Billy reflected that this was way too weird to be turning him on as much as it was. "Remember Thanksgiving? I think Alzheimer's is setting—"

"Oh, shut up," Billy groaned, grabbing Joey's hands at his hips, holding them there.

"Hey," Joey said softly, and pressed his mouth against Billy's chest. "Billy."

Unfortunately, he wasn't capable of answering to his name at the moment, but Joey didn't seem to mind. Billy screwed his eyes shut and concentrated very hard on not letting himself make whatever sounds came to mind, but Joey was good at this, _so_ good at this, his warm, wet tongue painting haphazard patterns on Billy's stomach.

"Shhh," Joey whispered, distracted, nuzzling into the loose opening of his boxers.

" _Shit_ ," Billy hissed. He bit his lip and grabbed Joey's shoulders.

"Easy," Joey murmured, one hand coming up to cover Billy's while he freed Billy's hard-on with the other. "Okay? Breathing is good."

Billy nodded, breathing fast, but all he could say in a disconnected sort of way was, "Joey."

"If everybody knew the secret to shutting you up," Joey said, lips moving and hot breath tickling Billy's cock, which wasn't fucking fair, "I'd have to kill them."

Billy might've given those last words some consideration, but Joey was sucking him now, fierce and demanding, and any other thoughts he might have had left him in an aching, tingling rush, and the rain, thank God, oh _God_ , it just kept falling.

* * *

"It's freezing," Phil said, horrified, trailing his fingertips in the water.

"You're such a wuss," Ric said, already up to his waist in it. He smacked the water and sent a splash in Phil's direction, hitting Snuffy instead.

"Hey, watch it!"

"Sorry, didn't see you there."

"Thad's obvious." Snuffy frowned, fiddling with his nose plugs.

Billy scrunched his toes in the damp sand, watching the lake water lap up around his feet, almost like the tide, riddled with bits of duckweed and tiny, darting minnows.

"You going in?" Joey asked, stepping on Billy's toes, then dashing into the shallow water.

Billy looked up, frowning at the sky. It had cleared up just enough after lunchtime for them to come down here, but it looked like things were getting gray again.

"Billy?"

"Yeah," Billy said, and waded in.

"You guys are crazy," Hank called. He was sprawled on a beach towel, watching them with a puzzled expression. He had a book in his hands, which was a pretty rare event.

"Learding to swib is a _good_ thig," Snuffy shouted back.

Shivering, Billy waded until his trunks were soaked. He watched Ric and Joey exchange evil looks, then wade up behind Snuffy and drag him backward by his elbows.

"HEY! Whad the—"

"Learning to swim is a _good_ thing," Joey said, giving Ric a nod before they let him go.

Billy laughed, watching Snuffy flounder pitifully for a few seconds before he realized his feet could still touch bottom and the others were whooping and shouting, even Phil.

"You all sug," Snuffy pronounced, then swam off using the least graceful butterfly stroke Billy had ever seen.

"C'mon!" Joey called, waving his arms. "Before it rains again."

Joey was a good swimmer, maybe the best of them, except Ric, who'd probably been swimming in the Pacific since he was in diapers. Billy had a passable breast stroke, and he had to use it to catch up. Joey was already well beyond where the rope marked five feet, and he stopped every few yards to look back. Billy was winded by the time he caught up, slipping under for a moment when he realized the bottom was gone and he'd have to tread. When he surfaced again, Joey was two inches away from him, grinning.

"How about I start calling you the Little Mermaid?"

"Remember what happened last time you did that?"

"Yeah, and it was worth it."

"You ruined my shirt," Joey said, and spit a mouthful of water in his face.

"Ew," Billy muttered. "You have any idea what's in that?"

"Can't hurt mermaids," he retorted, grinning, and slipped under before Billy could think of a response. A pair of hands locked onto Billy's ankles, then let go.

Billy thrashed back a few feet, watching Joey surface wearing the same grin. "Freak," Billy muttered under his breath. "Fine. If you're not a mermaid, you're something worse."

Joey swam close again, looking him in the eye. "Like what?"

Billy reached out and caught hold of Joey's arm, paddling till he found Joey's waist, then drew them together, inviting an awkward tangle of treading legs and swim trunks. "I don't know," he said. "One of those things that lures sailors overboard."

"Mermaids do that," Joey said, but his tone was teasing.

"Siren," Billy said, pinching his ass. "That's what I meant."

"I don't s—" Joey frowned, staring into the murky water between them. "Never mind."

Billy grinned, glancing toward the shore before giving him a brief kiss. "Got me."

"Yeah, and you were easy," Joey said, arms winding around Billy's neck, legs twining around his middle.

Billy sucked in his breath just before the water closed over them, clinging as his ears filled with freezing cold, and everything was darkness and drifting, a slow murky peace.

* * *

"C–Can't believe we did that," Ric stuttered, drawing the blanket closer around himself.

Joey poked at the fire, sending a thin trail of sparks up into the darkness, then sat down beside Billy again. "Why not? It was fun. Swimming pools suck."

"Walking home in the rain, while soaking wet, was _not_ fun, thank you," Phil said, teeth chattering. If Billy wasn't imagining things, he hunkered just a little closer to Ric, wrapped in an old blanket of his own.

"I miss the ocean," Ric said plaintively.

"You sound like a bunch of babies," Snuffy said. There hadn't been a lot of sun, but it had burned his nose around his nose plugs, and the white stripe left across the bridge looked ridiculous. "You missed out, man," he said, turning to Hank.

"On your lily white ass in bad swim trunks? No _way_ is that more interesting than Dave Barry, uh-uh."

"Can I borrow that when you finish?" Billy asked.

"Sure," Hank said.

Joey leaned till his head rested on Billy's shoulder.

"I'm still hungry," Phil said. "Where'd you put the iron-thingy?"

"Over against the tree," Snuffy said.

"Which tree?"

"The closest one."

"Oh, that's helpful. How 'bout a flashlight?"

"Don't look at me!"

"Would you guys just chill?" Hank asked, annoyed, pushing around what was left of the ham-and-cheese mountain pie on his paper plate. "It's over here."

Billy slid his arm around Joey's waist and watched another shower of sparks float up to meet the leaves overhead. The rain had stopped just before dark, leaving them with a faint chill that clung to their damp hair and clothes. For a guy who constantly complained about feeling cold, Joey was always fever-warm.

"Anyway, you guys are a drag," Snuffy said, rummaging in the graham cracker box. "This is a campfire. We're supposed to tell stories and shit."

"I don't know any stories," Phil said stubbornly, squinting down at whatever he was arranging in the pie iron. "Ric can tell some."

"What if I don't feel like it?" Ric asked. He sounded unusually touchy.

"Fine, forget I asked," Phil muttered.

"That's not asking, that's making me look like an ass."

" _Jesus_ ," Snuffy said loudly, "would you just knock it off? No stories, because you guys are fucking depressing tonight. What we need is some music. For instance—" Snuffy took a deep breath, and Hank started up, wild-eyed.

"No you d—"

"God bless my underwear, my only pair—"

"Gagh!"

"—stand beside them, and guide them—"

"Through the ni—um, no—the…" Ric floundered miserably, falling silent again.

"Through the rips, through the holes, through the tears," Snuffy sang, smirking at him. "From the washer—"

"Shut _up_ —"

"—to the dryer—"

"You're gonna pay."

"—to the clothesline in the aaaaaaaair!"

"I hate my life," Hank muttered.

"God bless my underwear," Joey sang under his breath, joining in at last, "my only pair."

"Whoo!" Snuffy cheered. "Nice harmony."

"Thanks," Joey said.

"Who's got another one?"

"If I had one, I'd shove it where the sun don't shine," Hank said.

"Little black things," said Ric suddenly.

"What?" Billy asked, mystified. He'd learned his fair share of dumb camp songs, sure, but this was getting fucking weird. Snuffy and Joey knew different words than he did.

"You guys don't know 'Little Black Things,' really?"

"Yes, really," Phil said, deadpan. "What the fuck is it?"

"It's a song, asshole. Do you want me to teach you or not?"

"Fine."

"Okay," Ric said, taking a deep, nervous breath. "It's been ages, so I've probably forgotten most of it. Uh." He swallowed, then looked right at the fire.

"C'mon, you can't be as bad as I am," Billy said.

Ric almost smiled. "Okay, so…I think it's like… Little black things, little black things, crawling up and down my arms. If I wait till they have babies, I could start a black-thing farm…

"Haven't bathed in nearly two years, haven't even changed my clothes. And I've got these little black things, where they come from, heaven knows. Little black things, little black things, crawling up and down my arms. If I wait till they have babies, I could start a black-thing farm!"

"That's gross," Snuffy said. "Excellent."

"Once a cute girl tried to kiss me, but she screamed and gave a yell—"

"That's redundant," said Phil.

"She ran off before I could ask her, was it the black things or the smell? Little black things, little black things, crawling up and down my arms…"

"Wow," Billy said. "Ric. I mean, who knew?"

Ric waved his hands at them, hissing. "It's not done yet. So—if I wait till they have babies, I could start a black-thing farm. Little black things, little—"

"Uh, we get the point," Snuffy said. "That's great. Really."

"Thanks!" Ric said, beaming. "Hey, Joey, how about some 'Kum Ba Yah' action?"

"Not on your life," Joey said, hiding against Billy's shoulder.

"Oh, c'mon, you lugged that stupid guitar out here, so don't even—"

"It's in the car," Joey pleaded. "Don't want to walk that far in the dark."

"Spoilsport," Snuffy said. "I guess that means I'll have to come up with something else."

Everybody groaned, but nobody else seemed to know "Shark in the Bathtub," and Snuffy was more than happy to sing. And there _were_ worse things than that.

* * *

What Billy remembered about the drive to Tarrytown was that it was a nice one, some of the best scenery he'd ever laid eyes on. It was a pity it wasn't fall, and it was also a pity that he was driving. Joey's eyes darted between the map and the passenger-side window.

"Are we almost there?" Snuffy asked, sounding anxious.

"Yeah, we are," Joey said. "Just another few miles."

"It's too nice a day for this," Hank said. "We should've gone yesterday."

"No way," Ric said. "Walking around graveyards in rain? No _way_."

"They won't laugh at you," Phil said, determined. "I swear. Tell them the one—"

"Would you just shut up about it already?"

"Holy _shit_ are you guys married," Snuffy said under his breath.

"If you guys don't shut up, I'm going to pull over," Billy said. "Into the other goddamn lane."

"Mom," Phil muttered.

"I heard that."

"Shut the fuck up," Ric sighed, glancing at Phil. "Fine. Later."

"HA!"

"Don't push it."

"Sweetie," Snuffy cooed.

"Shut _up_!"

"Remind me why I agreed to this?" Billy asked under his breath, flipping the turn signal in response to Joey's insistent tapping on the glass.

"Because you're too nice. There," Joey said. The exit was coming up.

Unfortunately, parking was a bitch, especially in a vehicle that big. Billy drove up and down the main street for a while, frustrated, and about the third go-round, Snuffy decided that he could only take so much of charming storefronts and glimpses of the Hudson teasing them from down the steep side streets, couldn't they just get _out_ already?

"Fine, _you_ get us a parking space," Billy said, hitting the steering wheel.

Joey touched his arm, shaking his head. "Go to the church."

"That's not permanent parking," Billy protested, but he kept driving when they came to the fork in the road instead of turning around.

"Yeah, but if we go there first, it's a reprieve."

"I kind of wanted to save that for later," Billy said, disappointed.

"Ric will thank you if we do it now," Joey said under his breath.

"Point."

The driveway was narrow and unpaved, and it curved from the side of the church down to the back of the grounds. Billy parked under the shade of the trees, one of the only few unmarked spaces available. From that vantage point, he could look through the windshield and down into the brook below. It was broad and shallow, and a bridge ran over it. A few men were fishing, leaning lazily on the railing. One of them looked up.

"That would've been it," Joey said, unbuckling his belt. "Looks so normal, huh?"

"You're talking like Ric," Billy said, getting out of the car.

Joey met him on the other side while the others clambered out. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't know you loved this story."

"I didn't know you knew this place."

They stared at each other for a few seconds before Billy glanced back at the bridge and said, "Let's go. They're gonna knock stones down or something if we don't keep an eye on 'em."

The church was pretty, even Billy had to admit that. For an old building, it was damn well cared-for, though that was on account of the crazy old caretaker guy who'd been there for ages; Billy vaguely remembered a bushy white beard and the name of Pete.

"Look at that," Joey said, continuing up the driveway instead of heading for the front of the building. "By the shed."

Billy scrambled up the embankment after him, coming up level with a tree stump that had cleaved a double tombstone in half. He swallowed.

Joey braced himself on the stump, careful not to touch the stone—it looked ancient, and it was, Colonial graves, many of them—and wandered around the front, staring intently.

"That's incredible," he said softly. "I've never seen anything like that."

"Where's your sketchbook?" Billy asked, glancing over his shoulder. They were in the Burying Grounds proper, and the other guys had wandered and spread about as far as the eye could see, even off where the old grounds blended into the newer sprawl of Sleepy Hollow Cemetery.

"Left it in the tent," Joey said absently. He crouched down level with the stones, eyes gently narrowed, almost as if he was looking at someone. It made Billy shiver.

"Can you make out the inscription?"

"Not much of it," Joey sighed, rising again. "It's fucking beautiful."

"Strange how the tree did that," Billy murmured.

"Come on," Joey said, holding out his hand.

There were a few trees amongst the graves, which had always made Billy feel somewhat better about the situation. The entire graveyard was good like that, he reflected—rolling hills and hidden walkways, a profusion of color in autumn. It was almost unsettling to be there at the height of summer, green leaves scattering the sun on the pink sandstone and gray slate graves. Joey stopped in front of one with a carving more delicate than the rest.

"The eyes follow you," Joey said. "Do any of the others do that?"

"I don't think so," Billy said, searching his memory. Pete had talked about that on one of the guided tours that he and his father had taken years ago. "Something about this stonemason versus the others, I forget."

"Catriena Van Tessel," Joey said, a smile quirking at the corner of his mouth. "It's like…"

"The author played here as a kid," Billy said, dredging up the memory intact. "He saw the names every Sunday. He knew some of the people before they died."

"I never knew," Joey said, tugging on Billy's hand. "Where are the others?"

"I thought you knew a lot about this place," Billy said. "What others?"

"The other names," Joey said. "If he took them from here…"

Billy scuffed his sneaker in the grass. "Look, I don't remember the names, I just remember what Pete said _about_ the names. I swear, I only read the story once, or maybe I never read it at all. You're the expert."

"Pete?"

"Yeah, he takes care of it here."

"Huh," Joey said. His eyes drifted back to the stone.

Billy thought about catching up with the others, but Joey squeezed his hand again, urgent this time. A white-bearded man in overalls was walking up the hill toward them, his dark eyes mad with delight. He raised an arm in greeting, so Billy did the same.

If Joey wasn't letting go, then neither was he.

* * *

"I," Snuffy announced, "am a genius."

"Yeah?" Joey asked, taking a noisy slurp of his soda. "Prove it."

Snuffy nonchalantly walked around the fire, intent upon his hot dog, and sat down directly across from Joey. "I've figured out what you guys should do for Halloween."

"I object," Ric said, raising his hand. "No way in hell are you dressing me up."

"Not _you_ ," Snuffy said, mouth full, using his hot dog to point at Billy and Joey. "Them."

"I beg to differ," Billy said. "That just proves you're stupid."

"Hear me out," Snuffy said, clearing his throat. "You're a prankster and proud of it."

Billy shrugged. "So?"

"Joey's a bookworm and proud of it."

"You had better have a point," Joey said, busy fiddling with the tab from his soda can.

"As a matter of fact, I do," Snuffy said. "Also, you guys are as far from rivals as it gets."

Billy stared at Snuffy, making an empty gesture. "And…?"

"You're even the right body types," Snuffy said helpfully. "What are you, dense?"

"Apparently," Joey said, flicking the tab at him.

Snuffy ducked, then sat up again. "You're such idiots. Am I the only one who thinks it would be funny as fuck if you guys dressed as Brom and Ichabod?"

Phil burst out laughing. "Oh my _God_!"

"Hey," Ric said, blinking rapidly at them through the flames. "He kind of has a point."

"Geez, thanks for your support," Joey muttered.

Billy was too shocked to say anything, wondering why he hadn't thought of it himself.

"Don't listen to him, man," Hank said. "He's still all high on the gift shop and shit. Doesn't get out much."

"Can I be headless?" Billy asked. "I mean, since Brom was actually the Horseman—"

"He wasn't," Snuffy insisted. "You have no imagination."

"Oh yeah? Then why do you credit him with the prank?"

"I don't credit him with _the_ prank," Snuffy clarified. "Just all the town pranks with the Sleepy Hollow Boys or whatever they called them. There's a difference. Brom seems a little dim, don't you think?"

"And Ichabod's a superstitious fool," Joey said. "Irving doesn't hide what he wants you to think of the characters."

"Well, still," Snuffy said, "I think it would be funny. You guys are passing up a really good idea."

"I'm not," Billy said. He glanced at Joey, hoping he didn't look like he was about to beg.

Joey rolled his eyes. "For crying out loud."

"Keys to the costume room," Snuffy reminded them, buffing his fingernails on his shirt.

"I'll do it if you shut up about it already," Joey sighed. "Fruit Roll-Ups, who's got 'em?"

They ate in relative silence for a while, and Billy contemplated the possibilities. He could get a pumpkin in town, carve it with one of Joey's knives, maybe get in a good toss at McAllister on the quad…yeah, really excellent shit. Snuffy wasn't so bad sometimes.

"It's too quiet," Phil said abruptly, taking his marshmallows off the fire. He gave Ric a pointed look, sticking one of the marshmallows onto a cracker.

Ric sighed, shaking his head. "What's with you and my stories, huh?"

"They're good," Phil said, eyes serious. "And this is a camping trip. Tradition."

"Yeah, we've covered just about everything else," Snuffy said. "Why not?"

"Just as long as we're not talking about God again," Hank said. "Makes my head hurt."

"Not about God," Phil said. "Ghosts. There's a difference. Ric, look, I know—"

"I was eleven years old when this happened," Ric said, raising his voice.

Joey looked up from picking the wrapper off of his Roll-Up, immediately intent. Billy stretched out on the blanket, extending his legs in front of him. Ric took a deep breath.

"I don't know what you call shit like this, so don’t ask me what I think it was. There are some places that feel like something terrible happened, you know, like the air tries to squeeze inside your chest until you can't stay there. So you don't; you just run."

"Like graveyards?" Snuffy asked, curious. "I never felt that in one."

"Not really," Ric said. "Neither have I. It's just—it could be the most normal place in the world. A street, a building, anything. But what I'm saying is, this one time, it's not the only time I ever felt it. It's just the one I remember, because it was awful."

Billy felt Joey shiver beside him, so he scooted closer.

"I used to have this friend, Jeff. He lived outside the city on this…farm-thing, commune, I'm not really sure. His parents were pretty big hippies. They let total strangers stay in this big, old house they had, and kept chickens and goats, stuff like that. I used to go stay out there because it was a really awesome place to be. I think one night there was an orgy, these college students in the basement, but Jeff didn't understand and neither did I—it was funny, you could hear this noise all through the house and we stayed up laughing.

"One Friday, Dad dropped me off. Jeff was out in the driveway; his Dad was fixing a car or something. His little brother knocked a bird's nest out of a tree down by the creek, and we got pissed off and chased him into the field. We got tired of running, and while I was standing there catching my breath, Jeff said, 'Hey, you want to see something?'

"And I was like, 'Sure, what?' Couldn't hurt; I thought maybe his parents had even weirder house guests than usual, and maybe he'd figured out a way to spy.

"'We gotta get the bikes,' Jeff said. Okay, cool. We get the bikes out of the garage and start riding. They lived on this long, straight gravel road that went on for miles, fields and trees everywhere. I think we rode about a mile and a half before we turned down a smaller dirt road I'd never seen before. I asked Jeff where the hell we were.

"'It's a surprise,' Jeff said. 'You're gonna love this.'

"We followed the dirt road about half a mile, to a dead end. There were more trees back there, sort of a clearing. We parked the bikes, then Jeff started off into the high grass and told me to follow him. I did. There was a stream with a wooden plank bridge; he took us across that and crouched down beside some bushes. He pulled something out, took me a while to realize what I was looking at—one of those really ancient coal buckets with the wide lip. I felt this thrill, like…that thing must've been a hundred years old."

"He took you out into the middle of nowhere to see an old bucket?" Snuffy asked. "Sounds a little suspicious to me."

"Shut up," Phil said. "Just wait."

Ric smiled at him for a second, then went serious again. "So, there it was, that old bucket, and he reaches inside and pulls out a glass bottle. Cobalt blue, shaped like those things you see in museums and apothecaries, so I was thinking by then, 'Holy shit, this is great!' And Jeff said, 'Isn't this cool?' I said, 'Hell yeah, where'd you get this stuff?'

"He put the bottle back into the bucket, which it turned out was full of old bottles…medicine bottles, soda bottles, I couldn't believe it. 'Follow me,' he said, so I did, starting to like this. It was like a scavenger hunt, only better. More private, with a tour guide to show you where everything was. And treasure.

"Jeff led me into the clearing, which was more open once you got through the first cluster of trees. You stop at the edge and you just— _blink_ , I mean, I can't explain to you how there were these huge mounds of earth with junk sticking out of them. Old refrigerators, high chairs, car parts…Jeff started digging in the closest mound. He said, 'The farther down you go, the older shit gets.' Sure enough, yeah—get down six inches, even a foot, and you're looking at stuff that's been there since at least the nineteen twenties, and then came the bottles, those gorgeous old bottles, blues and greens, yellows…"

"Was it somebody's property?" Joey asked, scratching his knee. "Sounds like some family used that place as a dump for generations."

Ric's eyes took on a sharp, scared look in the firelight. "Just wait," he said, closing his eyes. "So, there we were, digging these bottles up practically by the handful, Jeff saying he hadn't taken anything because there was too much and he'd need help, and he knew I liked old stuff. Well, it was great. After a while I decided I was going to stop digging and go look at the other mounds. Jeff said okay, just don't get too far, I don't know my way any farther than this. It was a really bright day, just a little wind, and it was fucking gorgeous out. Instead of going to the other junk piles, I went to the woods. Not too far in, just a bit under the trees where it was cooler. I started to feel kind of nervous without Jeff—I was by myself, and yeah, I had no idea whose land we were on.

"I went into the woods just a little farther. I thought I could see another trail, and anyway, the trees weren't very thick, just enough to dim the sunlight. I might've kept going if I hadn't literally tripped on something."

"And?" Hank prompted. "What was it?"

"This…log," Ric said, intent upon the fire, brow furrowed. "I didn't actually fall, just kind of stumbled, and there I was inside this…rectangle of these logs all laid out, and it took me a few seconds to realize it must be an old house foundation, and as soon as I thought that, it got colder. I wished I'd brought a sweatshirt. I called for Jeff.

"It only took him a few minutes to find me. His eyes went round when he saw the foundation, and he said something like, 'This could be where all those bottles came from.' I might've agreed, don't know. I started looking around, out through the trees, wandering around inside the foundation. I felt like maybe someone was going to see us, that any minute I was going to spot private property signs and that we should probably think about leaving.

"Jeff screamed something," Ric said, as if every word was painful.

"Was he okay?" Billy asked, feeling vaguely uncomfortable.

"Oh, yeah. He was great, in fact. Ecstatic. He found something. I went over to where he was, outside the foundation, and there were a bunch of leaves cleared away, and lying there on the ground…a ladder. This ancient, _ancient_ ladder that was wooden, all hand-carved, rotting away, but you could still see how the slats had been whittled and fitted into the sides, and there were even spots worn where people touched…

"I said something really lame like, 'Maybe we shouldn't be here.' Jeff said, 'Don't be ridiculous, this is important. We should tell the historical society and get famous!'

"Just, that struck me as a really bad idea. I started to walk away, but I was still looking at the ground, and for no reason I scuffed my foot in the leaves, and there was something else under there, something I actually crouched down and picked up because I had no idea what it was," Ric said, voice so quiet now that they all had to lean forward to hear.

"Sss," Phil said under his breath, and it made Billy shiver.

"Sole of an old shoe," Ric whispered. "Wooden tacks in it, so old that's how it was held together, you know, like you see demonstrated in those old shoe shops and…

"I started to run because I couldn't breathe, eyes on me everywhere, cold in my chest. I just _ran_. I think Jeff asked me what the fuck was wrong, and I yelled at the top of my lungs, all I could do to keep from crying, ' _We shouldn't be here!_ '

"And…and that's it. Just like that. I got to the bikes, scraped my leg to shit trying to get the kickstand down, and started riding. Didn't stop till I got back to his house. His mom fussed over me because I was bleeding, and he asked me later what it was.

"'Nothing,' I said. I was mad as hell. He didn't understand," Ric said, almost furious.

"Guess it _did_ belong to somebody," Joey said quietly, shivering.

"Yeah," Ric sighed. "A not-very-happy somebody."

"Glad _I_ wasn't there, man," Hank said, shaking his head. "That's all I have to say."

"Oh, so you believe now?" Snuffy asked him.

"When did I ever say I didn't?"

"Believing in God doesn't necessarily mean believing in ghosts, I thought we covered that."

"God doesn't have anything to do with it," Phil said, annoyed. "It's Ric's story, and it's true. Deal with it."

"I believe him," Billy said, rubbing Joey's arms. "It's just that I can't really imagine something like that. Don't have anything to compare it to, you know?"

"Not like most people do," Joey said under his breath, and then louder, "Ric, you're fucking brave."

Ric shook his head, looking away from the fire. "Nah, just stupid. We shouldn't have been trespassing in the first place."

"This is depressing," Snuffy announced, standing up for a stretch. "How about some more songs?"

"No more camp songs," Phil said, putting his hands over his ears. "I'll fucking scream."

Without warning, Joey disentangled himself from Billy's arms, stood up, and walked away.

Billy frowned and struggled up, starting after him. "What—"

"Stay there," Joey said from somewhere in the darkness, footsteps retreating.

"Okay," Billy said uncertainly, and sat back down. It really had gotten cold.

"All _right_ ," Ric said, brightening. "He's gonna sing, isn't he?"

"If you idiots behave," Billy said before he could stop himself, irritated.

"Ooh, ouch," Snuffy said, and started humming the underwear song.

By the time Joey got back, Hank had clapped a hand over Snuffy's mouth, trying to get him to stop. Joey stood there with the guitar case in hand, blinking at the unfortunate wrestling match that had developed right next to the fire. He set the case down beside Billy and snapped open the clasps.

"Told you— _ow_ —to—"

"Let _go_ of me, you _fucking_ —"

"Would you just get over yourselves already?" Ric said loudly.

Everyone fell silent except for Joey, who was laughing and tuning his guitar. Billy reached over and yanked on the cuff of his jeans, and he sat down carefully, shaking his head and grinning as he fiddled with the tuning keys.

"You guys are pathetic," he said. "Just chill out, okay? I mean, I doubt I'm the only one who remembers—" he frowned for a second, strumming one string repeatedly "—this."

Ric let out a hoot of laughter when Joey launched into a familiar introduction, and Phil started to clap. Billy sat back to give Joey some room; he rocked a little as he played.

"Oh, that's _low_ ," Snuffy muttered, still trying to brush leaves and dirt off his clothes.

Hank just sat back and ignored him, listening with interest, as if something hazy was coming back to him. "Fine with me," he said. "Anything's better than his underwear."

Joey grinned, drawing the line out longer than usual. "Good," he said, "because…

"Smoke set off the fire alarm  
That wasn't our intention  
Still, it didn't quite prevent  
Our first group detention  
Later on, we all agreed  
That it was worth the risk  
Of switching the announcements  
With a radio ad for Whisk…"

"Fucking asshole," Snuffy said under his breath, just loud enough for Billy to hear.

Hank started to laugh, and Joey grinned at him, his voice almost cracking on laughter as he started the second verse. Billy resisted the urge to hum; he knew the melody pretty well by now, from random snatches that Joey played when he didn't think anyone was listening. Ric was keeping time on his knees, and Phil was leaning to one side smirking.

"Brilliant, didn't we think, it was brilliant? I'm sure we pleaded brilliance at the time," Joey sang, eyes intent on the blanket, not quite mocking anymore. "Hey, c'mon," he said suddenly, speaking over the interlude. "Sing if you remember, I sound like shit tonight."

And they did, or everybody that could remember. Snuffy was pointedly silent, glaring at the fire, but Billy could make out Ric's weak, but in-tune tenor, and Phil looked like he was at least humming. Hank was in the same boat as Billy—he had a voice, but it wasn't anything to crow about, and anyway Joey was singing that much stronger than before. As the other verses flew by, Snuffy got it together and tried to make Joey crack up.

"Billy, didn't we think it was brilliant? I'm sure we pleaded brilliance…at the time."

"My man, that's funny and everything," Hank said, still applauding as the others hooted and whistled, "but do you have any good shit up your sleeve?"

Joey shrugged, unslinging the guitar so he could take a minute to catch his breath. "Don't know, what are you looking for?"

"Covers," Hank said. "Something the pros do. Don't say you haven't got it in you, understand?"

Joey glanced at Billy, chewing on his lip. "Haven't done them in a while," he admitted.

"Oh, come on," Snuffy said. "You owe me. Since I got slandered, I get to pick."

"Bull _shit_ ," Joey said, picking out a few chords that Billy didn't recognize. "But okay, sure. Try me. If I have it, I'll play it, but that doesn't mean you'll like it," he said with a hint of defiance.

"'Justify My Love,'" Snuffy said, almost sneering.

Joey sighed, slinging the guitar back over his shoulder. "Sorry, never done that. My call."

"But—"

"He doesn't," Billy said. "I've heard just about everything," he said, lying through his teeth. Billy actually had no idea how much Joey was capable of. Probably more than he'd ever let on, that was for sure. "So, what's it going to be?"

"Here," Joey said, and the chords stopped when Joey hit the guitar with the flat of his hand, launching into something that Billy had only ever heard on one of Joey's tapes—soft, driving accompaniment that he could've sworn was only possible on a piano until he'd run across the fake-book in a music store, unable to comprehend any of the notation.

"Oh," Billy said stupidly, and Joey looked up, serious except for his eyes, fingers flying at the strings, because, holy fuck, the arrangement technique was almost classical.

"Maybe I'm a witch, lost in time, running through the fields of Scotland by your side…"

"Oh, brother," Snuffy said, flopping backward in the leaves. "Chick rock. You douchebags think camp songs are worse than that? I think no—"

"Shut the _fuck_ up," Ric said under his breath, almost leaning into the fire. "What's…this sounds…" He fell back into listening, eyes half-closed.

"Etienne, Etienne, hear the west wind whisper my name. Etienne, Etienne—maybe by the morning we'll remember—" Joey took a breath, looking panicked for a second, maybe about to miss a note "—who I am."

Then the accompaniment again, steady and unfaltering, as Joey finally lifted his eyes to the fire and looked at them, all of them, one at a time through the second verse. Under any other circumstances, Billy would've found this strange, a guy singing a song like this to an audience like them, but the wind was there, driving, and Joey didn't falter anymore.

"I close my eyes, see you again—" speaking now, not singing it, putting the melody into the instrumentation, as if it wasn't complicated enough "—I know I've held you, but I can't remember where or when—" and sang again, "oh, Etienne…"

"She played back at home," Ric said, opening his eyes when it was finished. "Some club my friends dragged me to last summer. I swear to God."

"Well, yeah," Joey said, sagging. "She's West Coast. Makes sense."

"Reincarnation," Snuffy said, finally sitting up, looking kind of hazy-eyed. "We didn't talk about that. I think it's possible. I didn't notice before, it could be anybody singing that, like—"

"Shut up," Joey said. "So glad you noticed." He looked at Billy, cringing a little. "That's, um…out of the book you found. It's pretty hard, though, been trying…"

Billy's chest was tight, but he smiled, hoping nobody could see well enough, except maybe Joey. "It sounded fine to me," Billy said, but what he wanted to say was, _How do you do that every single time?_

"So, um, any other requests?" Joey asked, glancing nervously around the circle.

"Yeah," Billy said, knowing he'd have no chance in hell of recovering afterward. "The new one."

Joey froze, wearing a panicked look. "It's—not quite—"

"Bullshit," Billy said, looking him square in the eye. "It's so polished you could set it."

Joey swore under his breath and looked away, but his head snapped back just as quickly, wearing a considerably more relaxed look. "Oh, you mean Orion?"

"Yeah, what else?"

"Oh, sure. That's no problem. That's—um, you want to hear something about stars, or have you had enough of this shit?"

"Seeing as Snuffy hasn't got anything better," Hank said, "amen, brother. Play on."

"Yeah," Ric said, absently smiling. "Fine by me."

Phil was giving Joey a silent thumbs-up with a sort of surprised look on his face.

"The majority has spoken," Joey said, grinning down at his guitar, no way he could hide it, not even in the dying firelight. Billy had never seen him smile like that before, no matter how many other rare expressions he'd been fortunate enough to learn. After a few seconds, Joey looked up again, composed, and started to play. "Closing number, folks," he said, "so thanks for stopping by. I think the story goes,

"One foot in sea and the other on shore,  
the wind, it was too much to bear  
that still night.  
Unable to ask you for more,  
I chilled as we lay where  
the Pleiades said,  
'They're so bright.'

Unknowing stars make some kind of sense  
of the past, of right now, of this life  
that still night.  
We found the Queen of Heaven intense,  
Her pale throne gilt with strife –

Even so, She said,  
'I'm all right...

'Save your eyesight and spare your Hail Marys;  
The Hunter bears more than all mankind carries.  
Listen, my sons, he slays Dragon and Lion:  
For your strength and sake, I am calling Orion.'"

Nobody talking this time, not even Snuffy with a snide comment under his breath. Billy was sure he'd never seen Hank's eyes intense like that before, not even when Snuffy had him angry, and Phil was staring so hard at the ground that there'd probably be a hole if he checked in the morning. Ric, though, he was the real wonder, unashamed of his tears.

All the while, Billy felt Joey's eyes on him as Joey continued,

"The Court was elusive; the Prince was off sulking  
because Snuffy lit up, forgot where he was going.  
It's hard enough when it's clouds in your eyes,  
and Rigel agreed, what a rotten disguise  
for a galaxy tied up in knots while it's growing—"

Snuffy gave a short laugh, like it had taken him that long to catch up, but it wasn't an angry one. Billy caught his eyes and saw amusement. Or admiration, or forgiveness.

"A belt strung with silver for Moon's dying lover;  
sew him a shroud of the Pleiades' tears.  
All I could hear here on earth was Her laughter,  
'He'll rise again with the Wheel of the Years!'"

Ric shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, eyes closed tightly. Phil wasn't looking at the ground anymore, eyes fixed on Ric, unreadable and tense, _let me in_.

"That's what She said," Joey whispered, words barely sung, winding the chords down to nothing, "that still night."

"It's not over yet," Billy said, finally looking at Joey. "Why—"

"No," Joey said, and the fire in his eyes caught the faintest sheen of tears. "I don't want it to be, so it's not."

His words were lost to the others' applause, but not to the look between them, and Billy held it until smoke and tears choked him, until he could only lean forward and drown.

* * *

"Can't sleep?" Joey asked softly, leaning over him in the dark.

Billy opened his eyes, wincing. His eyelids stuck together, and his head ached.

Joey looked away, stroking Billy's forehead. "I shouldn't have done that," he whispered.

"Are you kidding?" Billy said, rubbing his eyes. "You floored 'em."

"Yeah, and they'll never speak to me again," Joey muttered, burying his face in one of the pillows. "I'm gonna get my ass kicked."

"You are not," Billy insisted, sitting up, wincing again. He reached down to stroke Joey's back, trailing his fingers up and into Joey's hair. "They needed it, if you ask me. They don't…they don't know how lucky they are, they don't think about what they've got."

Joey turned his head, still half hidden in the pillow. "Yeah, but _crying_ about it?"

"Fuck that," Billy said, touching Joey's forehead. "I don't care who the fuck you are. If you can't cry when it comes down to it, you're not human."

Joey lifted his head, nodding in silent agreement.

"So, don't worry about it," Billy said, settling down beside him. "Look on the bright side, they'll be on their best behavior tomorrow."

Joey rolled over on his back, shaking with sudden laughter. "That's _so_ true."

Billy grinned and rolled half on top of him, headache almost forgotten.

"I won't do it again, though," Joey said quietly, "if it hurts too much."

Billy closed his eyes, then felt Joey's hand on his cheek.

"I promise," Joey said. "If that's what you want."

"No," Billy said vehemently, shaking his head. "It's not. It's just…I don't know why I…"

"I don't think they do, either," Joey said, voice heavy. "And I don't know why the fuck I wrote it, so there. It's not normal, okay? It's just…something. I wanted to remember."

"Thanks to you, I'll never forget," Billy said, opening his eyes.

Joey bowed his head, smiling, and finally cried.

Billy held him till he was quiet, till he slept, and listened to the wind.

* * *

"I still can't cook," Phil said, frowning at the frying pan. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his voice sounded raspy and strange. "Who wants this shit?"

"Not me," Ric said, but he sounded apologetic.

"Traitor," Phil said, dumping it into the fire.

"'Morning," Billy said, sitting down beside Ric.

Phil gave him a dour look, poking around in the ashes with a stick. "Where's Joey?"

"Sleeping," Billy said. "Where else?"

"Dunno, maybe hiding," Phil said guiltily. "I just don't want him to think…"

"He doesn't," Billy said, breaking open a miniature box of Raisin Bran. "Trust me."

Ric was shaking his head, contemplating a box of Rice Krispies in amazement. "I never knew," he said. "Joey's scary sometimes, but that's like…I don't know, what the _fuck_ is he doing here?"

Billy frowned at him, confused. "I'm sorry, I don't—"

"Not _here_ here," Ric said, waving his hands at nothing in particular. "I mean at Regis. With us. What the hell is his dad's problem? Why didn't he send him to some performing arts high school or something, don't they have those in New York City? Or someplace he could be doing stuff with writing. I mean, Jesus _Christ_ , it's—"

"Ric," Billy said calmly, reaching over to touch his arm, "I know."

"Yeah," Ric said, taking a deep breath. "I guess you do. Guess you're glad he's not."

"What?"

"Somewhere else," Ric said, painfully honest. "I mean…I am."

"Same here," Phil said, but he didn't seem worked up, just really fucking tired. "It wouldn't be the same."

"Yeah, but would you miss what you didn't have in the first place?" Billy asked. The words felt strange on his tongue, but hell, it was hypothetical, and these assholes needed to think some more. Maybe encouraging Joey to sing for them hadn't been such a good idea after all; maybe some things needed to be protected. They needed to stop treating him like some fucking curiosity. More than half the school did that, and Billy hated it.

"Good point," Ric said, opening his cereal. "I don't know, but what I _do_ know is, he's here, and I'd miss him if he left. Let's stop talking about this."

"Good," Phil said. "Anybody want s'mores?"

"Not for breakfast," Billy said, not exactly certain he'd gotten his point across.

Joey showed up about half an hour later, and the other two followed not long after. Billy found it difficult to keep his eyes off of Snuffy; something about him just wasn't sitting right. He was way too quiet and way too polite, and by the time they decided to pool money for rental poles and go fishing, he'd determined that somebody must have abducted him during the night and left a clone in his place. Hank was the only one who didn't seem to notice, and Joey was more patient than he was usually willing to be even when Snuffy _was_ in a good mood.

On the way to the lake, Billy caught hold of Joey's elbow and dragged him behind, letting the others get ahead. Joey gave him a confused look.

"What's wrong?"

"You're not blind," Billy said, glancing surreptitiously ahead. "I know you're not."

"Oh," Joey said, not surprised. "That."

"Yeah, that. So, um, is it…"

"New Orleans all over again?" Joey asked, grinning. "Probably. But they're both fuckheads, so they'll be fighting by the drive home tomorrow." He patted Billy on the shoulder. "Enjoy."

"I'm gonna make you drive," he muttered, catching Joey around the waist before he could get away.

"You sure?" Joey asked, wide-eyed. "That's a big step."

"Shut up," Billy muttered. He kissed Joey's cheek and tasted sunscreen.

As it turned out, Snuffy was the world's worst fisherman. After the fourth time he tangled his line, even Joey refused to help, and Hank laughed at him mercilessly.

"Told you," Joey said casually, trying to pick his hook out of a thrashing sunfish.

Billy watched, reeling his lure in slowly. "You don't have to remind me."

"No, but I'm just saying…" The hook popped free, and Joey sighed with satisfaction.

"We having fish tonight?" Billy asked, eyeing the gasping fish clenched in Joey's hand.

"Nah," Joey said. "Too much work." He tossed it into the water, bending low to watch it swim away.

For the first time in ages, Billy felt like he could breathe.

* * *

It rained again that night, heavy and unrelenting. They had to make a run for the tents, which sucked, because some of them had stuff out drying from a swim that afternoon, and they hadn't even had time to save it. Billy stared at the roof of the tent, wondering if he had any garbage bags in the car. They were going to need them.

Thunder cracked, and Joey huddled closer to him.

"It's getting farther away," Billy said, which was what his mother had always said. "Every time you hear it, it's…" He frowned, unable to remember the rule.

"Yeah," Joey said. "Mom always said that, but I still hate it."

"Wish I could miss mine," Billy admitted.

Joey looked up at him, startled, but thoughtful. "Really?"

Billy shrugged, staring back up at the panel, watching rain sluice across it. "Yeah, I mean…your memories are so good. Mine are just…not all bad, I guess, but I'd be lying if I said I wanted any of that time back to relive it or something."

"M'sorry," Joey said softly, and stretched up to kiss him.

"Mm. Don't be. Mmms'just…not the way…things are, y'know?"

"Yeah," Joey said softly, looking down at the sleeping bag between them. "Sometimes," he said, "I think I'd give anything. I mean, _anything_."

Billy nodded, unable to think of anything to say.

Joey looked up at him, smiling the way he had the night before. "And, you know, I wish you could meet her. You'd like her so much better than… She's…was…" Joey paused, squeezing his eyes shut. "I can't believe she won't know you. She'll be the only one."

Billy couldn't swallow. This was worse than anything, this was—

"But it's okay," Joey said, opening his eyes, smile brighter than ever. "We'll be…"

"Okay," Billy said, smiling back, because if Joey said it would be, it _would_.


	19. Book of Hours Prologue: Every Hour

**_Wednesday, September 18th  
10:00 PM_ **

What Robert needs is time to think, but he doesn't have any.

He tried that already and failed. Miserably. He's lucky he isn't dead, and the thought makes him nauseous. He had to look away when the gun fired. He saw the blood when he dashed past, spreading in a dark pool on the wooden floor. This is for real.

He hopes his call got through.

Robert almost trips into the guy ahead of him, mumbling an apology so the terrorists won't hear. They're being herded along like sheep. It makes him think of things he thought would never happen to him—things they teach you about in history class, things that happen in parts of the world ruled by hatred and fear. Behind him, someone is trying not to cry. He wants to turn around and make sure it's not one of the freshmen.

He can see Billy Tepper near the front of the line now. The group is getting smaller; they're putting about five, six, seven guys to a room. Sometimes fewer. He can see that some of these bastards are young and careless, just following orders. Probably not much older than him and the rest of the seniors. He needs to talk to Billy.

Maybe it's a stupid thought, but what else can he do? Nobody else has the guts to _do_ shit around here. They're all frozen, terrified, except him and Billy and the other guy he hangs out with. Joey Trotta. Robert tries to forget the look he gave the ringleader. Thinking about it makes him even sicker. Joey's as reckless as Billy.

Robert watches the terrorist at the front of the line shove some more guys into the next room—fuck, there go Groves and McAllister. All the rebels split up. Not good.

That's it. He has to move.

He tries to push ahead, wedging his way between a couple of nervous sophomores, but it's no use. Billy's about to get shoved into a room; Joey might get cut off. He's not going to get there in time. He pushes the sophomores again, trying to watch.

They're all gone, even the freshmen tagging along behind Joey.

Robert takes a deep breath. There's no time.

He hopes his call got through.

 

**_Thursday, September 19th  
1:00 AM_ **

They're crazy.

Ted can sleep through almost anything, so he was glad when things quieted down. He didn't care so much about his bed, because it was better to have Derek with him on the floor than be in it alone. He didn't know their names, but they were jerks, and now this.

He's never seen them fight before. To his knowledge, they're all tight, all buddies, them against the rest of the school. The kind his mom calls rebels without a cause. He knows he's not like that, and he doesn't really want to be. Ever. Not if it means being crazy.

Ted had heard things about somebody's dad being in the mafia. It must be true, if Billy's friend got angry enough to try pounding the other guy into the mattress. He shivered.

He feels kind of safe with Billy around, which is weird. Billy pulls pranks and doesn't respect the faculty, but he seems like a really decent guy. He didn't go tearing things apart like the others did, looking for food and magazines. He wanted to know about Derek's plane. He might even be smart, or at least smart enough to know they're fucked.

Also, Billy cares about his friend a lot.

Ted remembers thinking that anybody else would have tackled…Joey, his name's Joey. He hears Billy saying it in his head, saying it over and over. But Billy didn't do that. He just put his arms around Joey and held him back, not even that hard. Joey didn't bruise.

He went really still, Ted remembers.

In the dark, Ted hears faint snoring. It's probably the jerk, why else would they call him Snuffy? Somebody's stirring on his bed—the guy who said he couldn't speak Spanish.

That wasn't smart. Anybody could see that.

Billy isn't sitting on the spare chair anymore. He's over in the corner with Joey, but Ted can't see them. They keep talking off and on, voices hardly above a whisper. He wants to know what they're saying, if they're discussing things. It feels good to have a plan. 

They're still crazy, though.

 

**_10:00 AM_ **

Jesus fucking Christ. How did he get assigned this shit?

It isn't easy. Those guards are pretty sharp, eyes scanning all over the place. Hank feels like they can see right through him. He feels like a fucking sitting duck, that's what.

Snuffy and Ric are standing beside him, trying to act casual. Bull _shit_. They look about as casual as bandits at a hold-up. The wood behind him is rough, digging into his palms. He's gonna have some splinters, and there isn't even a nurse around.

" _Shit_. Guard."

Hank flattens himself against the doors, staring at the ground. Damn ugly boots that dude has.

When he's gone, they all breathe again. Snuffy keeps fiddling with his shirt pocket like he wants a cigarette. Nobody to keep him from lighting up, that's for sure.

Across the quad, Billy is talking to Gube.

Joey is close beside him, bent over his notebook, writing. Hank doesn't envy him that job, no way. He'd forget shit, or write it down so nobody could read it. Billy's almost leaning on him, making a face that suggests Gube isn't cooperating. What's up with that?

Joey looks up and says something, eyes still and focused.

Gube starts talking.

Billy glances over at the notebook, listening, then looks up at Joey for a second.

Hank doesn't envy them, but he can't help but think they're damned lucky to have each other, what when the rest of the world is going to hell in a fucking hand basket.

Snuffy won't look at him. Jesus _fucking_ Christ.

 

**_12:00 PM_ **

"Okay," Billy says, looking Ric in the eye. "We're counting on you."

"Yeah. Right," Ric replies, wiping his palms off on his thighs. They won't stop sweating. He can't believe they're doing this. He can't believe—

"You've got our backs," Joey says. Punches his arm, almost smiling.

Ric thinks that somewhere along the line he got something he really didn't deserve, being friends with these two. And now they're looking at each other like it's life or death, and he's nervous all over again. Something's going to go wrong. It's all going to go—

"Here he comes," Joey breathes, and they're off.

Ric knows he's supposed to be watching the guards, too, but instead, he watches things unravel in slow motion, waiting for his moment. He doesn't know this guy. He's got to—

"Hey, that's for—" The guy stares indignantly as Billy takes the tray, reaching for it.

Joey puts his own tray into the guy's hands, giving him a desperate look.

"Over here," Ric says automatically, taking the guy by the arm. He steers him over to a table, but not without glancing over his shoulder. Was he supposed to do that? Bad shit always happened to the ones who looked back, like Lot's wife and that Greek—

"Be careful, man," Joey says, but Ric can't see his face.

He turns back to the guy he doesn't know, unable to clear his mind of the image of Joey's hand touching Billy's back for the briefest of moments, then letting go.

 

**_Friday, September 20th  
12:00 AM_ **

Derek is on his own bed tonight. Billy said that he deserves it.

It's dark, quiet. There are searchlights going, though, and it makes him restless. Hank said that it meant the police were there, or maybe the FBI. He can't sleep, but he wishes he could. Ted is snoring softly down at his feet. His roommate sleeps like a log.

Derek turns his face into the pillow. It's not the only thing he can hear.

On some level, he knew something was up with those two. You couldn't hang around them for very long and not pick up on the fact that if you took one of them away, the other one just wouldn't be able to function. Kind of like batteries, Derek thinks.

It's not funny or clever, and he can still see them with his eyes closed.

They're holding each other.

Derek hears them whispering words too garbled to make out. They're curled up in Ted's bed, talking, arms around each other like Derek's sister and her boyfriend. Not everybody is asleep; it's pretty much impossible. The other guys don't care.

 _Yogurt's not stupid_ , he had heard Billy say to the others earlier when they thought he wasn't listening. 

Derek knows what kissing sounds like. 

He imagines screwing up; he imagines Billy getting caught. Billy also said, _He can handle this_.

He isn't sure he can.

 

**_9:30 AM_ **

"Where _is_ he?" Joey repeats, glancing at his watch. His voice is low, but the panic is deafening.

"He'll be here," Snuffy says, not sure if he believes himself. _Fucking fuck_. He's going to have to do this, isn't he? He had hoped he wouldn't have to. _Fuck!_

They're all looking at him.

Joey's looking at him.

"Go ahead," somebody says, touching his shoulder, and time grinds to a halt.

Snuffy remembers the way. Of _course_ he remembers the way. He's been up there enough times by now that he should be able to do it with his eyes closed. Only that would be a bad idea, so he concentrates looking innocent as he enters the cafeteria. Just like drama club. He's _acting_. That's all it is. Just another gig. One he has to do well.

Once he has the thermos, Snuffy breaks into a terrified run.

This is important. This is important. _This is important_.

The words tumble through his mind in time with his shaky climbing. He's almost there, almost to the top of the steps. His own breath in the corridor is thunderous. He almost drops the coffee. Will they hear him? Stupid fuckers. There. Fucking _take_ it. Jesus.

Snuffy lets the trapdoor slam. It's ancient, and it squeaks if you're not careful. Usually, they don't have to be careful. The bell tower is safe after hours.

Fucking daylight, Snuffy thinks. It's fucking _daylight_.

He leans against the rough brick, struggling to catch his breath. No, not here. He can't. Not here. One, two; in, out. Not here. _Not here_. He struggles with the match.

Snuffy lights the cigarette, takes a drag. A cough spikes in his chest, but he crushes it.

Fucking Hank. If they live through this, he's _so_ getting laid.

Without a moment's hesitation, he wraps the cigarette in the matchbook and sets it down. He thinks about Joey's eyes. He thinks about Joey shifting from foot to foot, waiting.

He hopes those fuckers _burn_.

 

**_Saturday, September 21st  
2:53 AM_ **

Phil can't sleep. He hasn't slept in two nights, and he can't sleep tonight, either.

When they told him about Regis, he had gone outside and run as far as he could possibly run without losing sight of the house. There were Secret Service guys everywhere. He couldn't be alone, couldn't _really_ be alone. Behind the house was an open field. He had tripped somewhere in the middle of it, ankles bramble-scratched, and dug his fingers into the long grass. The twins had been playing noisily on the deck.

Fucking Middle of Nowhere, Nebraska. Who had a hideout in _Nebraska_?

Phil sits up and stares out the window, ears pricked by a sound in the darkness.

He's not supposed to be looking at newspapers. There aren't any out here. He's not supposed to be listening to the radio, either. He tried to find one, but couldn't. There's a television in the small living room, but hitting the power button just produces static, and he's sure that there must be a special remote somewhere that only his parents can use.

Phil slides out of bed, taking the pillow with him.

The sound is coming from the living room, soft and muted, but restless. He pauses in the hall, afraid of being seen. There's an eerie glow beyond the couch, which means the television is on. Somebody's having a late night, maybe catching Johnny Carson.

Phil decides it's worth the risk. He walks into the room, yawning. "Can't slee—"

No one is there.

Phil sits down on the couch, setting the pillow down beside him. He's not sure what station this is, but it's on commercials. The sounds down so low that it's almost muted.

He picks the pillow back up and moves to the floor. Up this close, he can actually hear.

NBC, it's fucking NBC. And there's news coming up, even. After some shit he couldn't care less about. He doesn't even remember what he just heard. Just that there's news.

Phil wraps his arms around the pillow, fully aware of what he's doing. His chest hurts.

He wonders why it's taking so long. Oh. It's not 3 AM yet.

Phil goes over what he knows: that these guys are from Colombia, that it's related to the case his dad was responsible for. That drug lord. His parents reassured him that the proper authorities were involved. The Government. Phil wasn't comforted.

All he can think of is Billy.

Billy, unlike most of the guys, has enough nerve to fight back. Not to be blatant about it, but to fight back nonetheless. In a situation like that, Phil imagines that such a thing could get a guy killed. It could get them all killed. Phil tightens his hold on the pillow.

Something about a hostage situation draws his attention back to the screen.

For a split second, he doesn't realize what he's looking at.

"…resulted in a student fatality early yesterday afternoon. Details coming on the hour."

The shot was too brief, but Phil recognized the building. He recognized the staircase.

The rest of it, he doesn't want to believe, but the words and the image matched.

Phil closes his eyes and shuts out the sound. It isn't very hard; the volume's down so far that, if he tries hard enough, nothing's there at all. Nothing but the dark and the soft glow and the suffocating white of the pillow, the flash of white that had been on the screen.

He lets the tears come, now, hard and harsh with the dread of uncertainty.

_What was Joey going to do?_


	20. Book of Hours: Part 1

For a moment, the pain was stunning.

_(Someone touched his hand, he thought.)_

And then there was nothing at all.

 

* * *

 

_He is dreaming. He has to be._

_The room is dark except for thin slats of bluish white. They fall across the bed in unfamiliar patterns, swaying gently. Those strip-blinds. Air conditioning. He hears breathing, which means that he is not alone. It's not just the blinds that are stirring._

_He hears a familiar voice, but it dies away quickly, swallowed by sleep._

_White ceiling, pale round lights that are dark now. They used to be on. There have been visitors in and out; he has scarcely been alone. He remembers sunlight and commotion, mostly, and shouting. He remembers not wanting to leave, and having no choice. He hasn't been alone since everything went to hell. Exploded._

_He isn't sure that he wants to remember what_ everything _is, but it's wrapped around him like a blanket. If he could just move, he would know in an instant._

_The blinds make a soft clatter, and he hears other voices through the wall._

_They sound like adults, which is strange, because he's sure he should be hearing other guys. One of them is shouting. The other speaks in tones that should be comforting, but the reality is that they're harsh and exhausted, and the shouting man sounds familiar._

__Oh, shit, _he thinks._ They'll see me. __

_It's not a comforting thought, because, in many ways, this is his fault. He couldn't stand down, couldn't take no as an answer—not even from himself—especially not when—_

_His eyes are closed, though he can't remember closing them._

_Another murmur in the dark from another familiar voice. He can't remember how many of them are here; it didn't seem to matter at the time. It still doesn't. Nothing does._

_The voice doesn't resolve itself into silence. It says,_ Billy.

He sat up, trembling, and looked out the window. It was still night, pierced only by streetlamps, and the blinds continued their gentle swaying—he was in a motel room. Billy rubbed his eyes, finding them sore. He shoved down the drenched covers and crouched, peering at the floor, then at the other bed.

Hank and Snuffy in a ball.

Ric sprawled out, curiously still.

And on the other side of the wall, Albert Trotta was still yelling.

 

* * *

 

_When he opens his eyes, it's morning._

_He hasn't spent much time in this room lately. He makes a point of not being at home when he can help it, but apparently this isn't one of those times, so he sits up and stretches, rubbing his eyes. He smells cooking downstairs, and the sunlight falls in golden stripes across his floor._

_It's strange, but he's already dressed. He must have fallen asleep like this._

_He doesn't meet anyone in the hallway. His father must be shut up in the office, or maybe even out. There is noise in the kitchen, so he follows it. He wonders what time it is. He might be late for school. He hates taking the bus—first stares, and whispers, then glares._

_He walks down the hall, stretching. What had he been doing to make his whole body ache?_

_"Good morning, sleepyhead," his mother says, stirring something at the stove._

_"Sorry," he mumbles, and starts for the dining room._

_"Not so fast," his mother says, and catches his arm. She kisses his cheek, her lips soft and cool._

_"Mom," he protests. He wouldn't give it up for the world, though._

_"Go sit down. I've made oatmeal."_

_"Tea?" he asks._

_"It's coming," she says with a touch of impatience. "You're as..." She hesitates. "You're impatient. We have all day. Just sit down."_

_He does, facing the kitchen, and frowns. There's something not right. They don't have all day, he—_

_"Did they send me home?" he asks, startled. He must have been dreaming. "Why did they—"_

_"Why would you ask a thing like that?" says his mother, alarmed. The teapot is in her hand. "Of course not. They were going to do nothing of the sort. Don't worry. Your tea—"_

_"Mom," he says quietly, feeling his hands begin to shake against the tabletop. "What day is this?"_

_"Sunday," she says matter-of-factly. "You have nothing to worry about."_

_He isn't so sure about that. He looks down at his hands, then down at his body. "Mom, this is going to sound stupid, but what..." He can't say it. It's absurd. He's disoriented, he's—_

_"Caro?" she asks, concerned, setting a cup down in front of him. Pale blue porcelain, like a robin's egg. "Are you all right?"_

_"Mom," he repeats, not daring to touch the cup. "What year is this?"_

_She ruffles his hair, laughing. "I don't know where you get your sense of humor, but—"_

_"Probably from Billy," he says, sliding his hands to the edge of the table, tightening his grip._

_His mother frowns at him, crouching down so they're at eye level._

_"Joey," she says gently, touching his forehead with concern. "Who is Billy?"_

He pushed away from the table, and the teacup went flying.

Dr. Robert Gould looked up from his paperwork, straight at him, and frowned.

"I—" Joey stammered, backing away quickly. "I didn't—I'm sorry, I—"

The headmaster looked back down at his paperwork and sighed. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and began mopping at it with an air of weary discouragement. The papers looked important, full of his neat, worrisome handwriting and a lot of Roman numerals. And there was a tin of Darjeeling.

"Sir?" Joey asked, taking another step forward. Hadn't he heard him? Called him there?

Dr. Gould said nothing, went on with his writing. Maybe his mother had just gone to get—

 _Oh, God,_ Joey thought, backing away. _It's Sunday_.

 

* * *

 

At last, he remembered something.

_(Someone closed his eyes, he thought.)_

He wasn't supposed to be there at all.

 

 

* * * * * *

 

 

Billy woke slowly, trying not to process his surroundings. He'd already been up once; he knew where he was. They'd checked all the students into this dump late Saturday evening, after they'd managed to herd them all off the school grounds again. Billy wasn't sure why they let them back on in the first place. There was a hell of a lot of cleaning up that needed to be done, and they had no idea when Regis would officially re-open. Some kids had been pulled permanently, already home with family. No word from Phil.

Somebody was knocking at the door, and somebody was shaking him.

"Billy," Hank said softly. " _Billy_."

He shoved Hank's hand away and rolled over, smothering himself in pillows.

Hank blew out an exasperated breath, loud enough for Billy to hear.

"Somebody's here to see you, Billy."

Billy blinked into the gray-white blur.

"Who?" he asked, sounding like he hadn't talked in a century.

"Your mother," Hank said reluctantly.

"Fuck," Billy said, and rolled back over. "How d'you know?"

"Parker called and said she'd be coming over."

"You mean the phone rang?"

For a second, Hank looked almost amused.

"Billy, you've been d—" he paused, looking suddenly pale "—out like a light."

Billy ignored the faint sensation of hurt crowding in his chest and got up. He noticed that Snuffy was sprawled out on the other bed pretending to watch the television, which was turned down almost to mute. He could hear the shower running. That had to be Ric.

"Hey," Snuffy said, turning his head with a hesitant smile. "Sleep all right?"

"Yeah," Billy said, and snagged his backpack on the way to the walk-in closet. His back was on fire, and his legs ached with every step. Maybe he wasn't in as good a shape as he'd thought. He dropped his backpack on the carpet, then rummaged for jeans and a clean shirt. He'd worry about the cuts later. He could ask—

"Billy, she sounds pretty impatient," Hank said from across the room.

Billy closed his eyes and bit his tongue till he had a better excuse for the tears in his eyes.

"In a _minute_!"

He got dressed quickly, but saved the shirt for last. Hissing breaths in and out, _fuck_ this wasn't going to be an easy month, was it? Socks, shoes. He ignored Snuffy's hopeful look on the way to the door, uselessly finger-combing his hair.

He wasn't ready when he answered the door. He'd never be ready.

Barbara stood there wearing her best suit and her worst make-up job, blinking apprehensively. She clutched her suitcase handle with both hands.

"Hi," Billy said, since she obviously wasn't going to start this conversation.

She blinked a few more times, then set down the suitcase. She looked pale and tired, at least, as if it had troubled her to get up in time to reach Massachusetts by noon.

"Sweetheart," she whispered, arms outstretched.

Billy hugged her. It wasn't like he had any choice in the matter. She squeezed him as if he was five years old again, but it wasn't a skinned knee and the pressure of her arms was too much, and her palms and fingers splayed flat against his shoulders.

" _Mom_ —"

"Oh," she said, letting go of him quickly. "Oh, I'm so sorry. They told me…" She made a vague gesture, looking frightened, then touched his shoulder. "You're—hurt?"

"Yeah," Billy said, and turned around, not bothering to lift the shirt. He wouldn't have to.

His mother let out a little sob that made his throat catch.

"I'm sorry—I'm _so_ —"

"Outside, okay?" Billy asked, backing her out to the edge of the concrete walkway. He pulled the door shut behind him, taking a sharp breath. _Fuck_.

"I won't ask…" Barbara glanced off to one side, as if counting the number of rooms. "They _did_ tell me. I'd hardly want you to have to talk about—well, it _was_ very brave of you, and I don't—would you like to come home?" Her eyes flew back to Billy, more frightened than reassuring. "Your father wanted me to tell you—"

"He can tell me himself," Billy said automatically, tightening his jaw. Just great. They couldn't get along even when he'd put his life on the line, even when…

"Is Dad coming?" he asked, on the edge of tears that he hadn't managed to fend off in the first place.

His mother's lips tightened.

"Oh, so he couldn't take one _fucking_ day out of his busy schedule to—"

"I'm taking you out for something to eat," his mother said crisply, and picked up the suitcase. "The car's this way."

Billy turned his back on her, reaching for the doorknob.

"I'm not going."

"I…" his mother began, the faintest trace of anger in her voice, as if she'd forgotten herself. "What?"

"I'm not hungry," Billy said, trying the doorknob. He was locked out.

"I don't believe you," Barbara said evenly, but he could hear that she was trying not to panic. "I can't speak for your father, but _I_ was willing to take—"

"Let's just get this over with, okay?" Billy said, letting his hand drop. "Where to?"

"You know what's here better than I do," said his mother. "Of course, there's Mara's—"

"Don't feel like going there," Billy said, shoving the image out of his mind, but it was too late. Holding hands under the table. Arguing with Snuffy, bitching about algebra—

"Billy, are you all right?"

"No," he said, and made a beeline for the car.

They went to the diner without a name, which made Barbara wrinkle her nose and gave Billy some sick satisfaction. He and the guys didn't eat there often, and anybody who knew them didn't have to ask why. His mother, not knowing, wouldn't ask.

"Iced tea with lemon," she said to the waiter, handing back her menu, pointedly not looking at him. "Billy?"

"Just Coke," he said, staring down at the table.

"Listen," his mother began once the waiter was gone, "they told me—"

"Everything," Billy said bitterly, looking up. "They told you everything, right?"

His mother hesitated, pursing her lips like she always did when she was lost.

"They told me that it was your friend."

The words hit like a slap. She hadn't meant it to come out that way, probably, but Billy still wanted to walk out on her. He grabbed his silverware instead, ripping the paper band off the napkin and letting the pieces fall loose with a clatter. That it was his friend. _It_.

"Anything else?" he asked coldly.

"Billy," Barbara said helplessly, "I can't _imagine_ —"

"Don't try. And don't make me talk about it."

His mother made a face that was more or less her scowl.

"They told me," she said with forced gentleness, "that you saw everything, and that you _should_ —"

"I'm leaving," Billy said, standing up so fast that he almost ran into the waiter, who had returned with their drinks. He looked startled, a bit afraid. Watched the news, maybe.

"No, you will _not_ ," his mother said sharply, and something inside him buckled.

"Fine," he said, and sat down again. He stirred the ice in his Coke, wondering if she meant to apologize. She had better, anyway, and it wasn't him that she owed, either.

"I didn't mean…" She took a deep breath, then gave him an earnest look. "If you don't want to talk about it for now, that's fine."

"Thanks."

"They also told me that you saved everyone," Barbara said slowly, as if the words didn't make sense. "That you could've…if you hadn't thought fast enough."

Billy closed his eyes and covered them with one hand, rubbing his forehead. He couldn't do this. He wasn't ready. He couldn't understand why she couldn't just let it go.

"I did what I had to," Billy said. "I'm not going to answer you anymore, all right?"

His mother blinked at him, looking genuinely upset for the first time.

"That's fine," she said tersely, and stopped talking.

They ate in perfect silence, hardly speaking up even for the waiter. After a few bites, his food tasted cold, so he pushed it around and hoped nobody would notice. When the check came, Billy tried to snag it, but his mother was faster. She drove him back to the motel without a word, but as soon as the car was in park, she took a deep breath.

"I've gotten a room at a hotel outside of town. I'm staying for a couple of nights."

"Why?" Billy asked automatically.

"Because if they don't re-open the school, you're coming home," she said.

"They're going to re-open," Billy said. "It might take a week or so, that's all."

"They said nothing is certain, and there have been at least five students I've heard of who won't be returning. Are you certain you want to go back?"

Billy opened his door and got out, and walked until she shouted at him.

" _Billy_!"

"Yes," Billy said, glaring, hoping she'd get the point.

Barbara ran her fingers through her hair and stared straight ahead through the windshield.

"I'll come back to take you to dinner," she said mechanically. "We'll go someplace nicer, get out of here if you want—"

"I'm tired," Billy said, and started walking again. "Come back tomorrow."

He'd never known his mother not to attempt the last word, but she drove off in silence.

Outside the room, Snuffy was standing with a cigarette in his hand. There were several butts scattered at his feet, and his anxious look melted into barely disguised relief as Billy approached. He dropped the cigarette and ground it out with the toe of his loafer.

"Been waiting for you," he said. "How was it?"

"Sucked," Billy said. "You have a key?"

"Yeah," Snuffy said, and rummaged in his pocket. "They gave us three," he said, and opened the door. "Hank and Ric took the others."

Inside, the room was quiet, but the air conditioning had been turned down. Hank was asleep on the bed, and Ric was sitting at the foot of the mattress, flipping channels.

"Hey," he said, looking up when Billy and Snuffy came in.

"Hey." Billy kicked out of his shoes and left them where they fell.

"Anything good on?" Snuffy asked, tossing his pack of cigarettes on the small table.

"Nope," Ric said. "They don't get too many channels."

"That's nice," Billy said, and walked on by him. Nobody was in the bathroom now.

"You want anything?" Ric called. "I'm making a vending machine run."

"No thanks," Billy said, and closed the bathroom door behind him. He waited a few seconds to flip the light on, then stripped his shirt off with a hiss. Ruined.

When the first knock came a few seconds later, he locked the door.

By the time they started pounding, he was already under a jet of hot water, sobbing.

 _They told me that you saved everyone_.

Shaking, he sank down to where the water ran a faint, clear red.

 

* * *

 

He couldn't panic. The worst thing he could possibly _do_ was panic.

In the end, the smartest thing seemed to be finding a seat on one of the headmaster's overstuffed pieces of furniture and waiting patiently for him to finish up his work. Joey spent three uncomfortable hours curled up in a corner of the sofa, staring at an awful porcelain shepherd figurine on the coffee table that had maybe a snowball's chance in hell of actually being Limoges. He wanted to pick it up and check, but he'd already broken something valuable. He glanced guiltily at the garbage can, where Gould had wistfully brushed the pieces—but not before a nervous glance around the room.

Joey was fairly certain that he shouldn't be able to feel as sick as he was feeling, so maybe there was some hope after all. This was just a dream. A nightmare. He was—

Gould got up very quietly and walked over to his filing cabinet, where he yanked a squeaky drawer open and dropped a bunch of files in with uncharacteristic carelessness.

"Sir!" Joey said as loudly as he could, all but shouting.

The headmaster walked back to his desk, rummaged around in the center drawer until he found his keys, and then walked past the coffee table and to the door. He left, and there was the sound of the key in the lock. Joey stood up and stared, shivering.

He wasn't even there.

It was one thing to suspect that things have gone so horribly wrong that they don't make sense anymore, but it was quite another to _know_. Joey walked over to the desk, frantic, and swept aside as much of the clutter as he could. There was the calendar, flat against the desktop, its corners neatly tucked into some leather matting.

Sunday, September 22.

Yeah, he'd lost a day. He already knew that. His mother had told him—

 _His mother_.

Bending over the desk, far enough to fall flat if he let go, Joey was sicker than he'd ever been in his life. And all he could do was choke on _nothing_ , because he no longer had one.

"Mom," he said, and closed his eyes. She'd be back any moment. Any moment—

The headmaster's door rattled open, and Gould stood there, staring straight at him.

Joey froze, then straightened up.

"Dr. Gould, I—"

The headmaster flipped off the lights, shut the door, and was gone.

"—am in so much fucking trouble," he whispered, sinking down into the chair. When he cried, no tears came, and the desk was an unforgiving pillow, hard beneath his arms and knuckles and forehead. How could he feel this, how could he even _know_ , if he—

If he was—

Home, at his very own desk. His bedroom was as darker than it had been that morning—if he had even _been_ there—because the blinds were tightly shut. Rising slowly from the chair, he wondered if Rosemary had been in to tidy up. He turned around again, staring at the alarm clock. It was just past seven in the evening.

Joey crossed to the foot of his bed, kneeling down in front of the trunk. He opened it carefully, trying not to think about how normal the smooth wood felt beneath his fingertips, and peered inside. Notebooks, sheaves of paper, old art projects. Joey fished out a tiny, folded piece of paper and fought the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was one of his old notes from Dean, complete with some scrawls from Eric.

Fuck, he had to get out of there. He had to get _out_.

Joey dropped the note and slammed the trunk lid, jumping to his feet, arms wrapped tightly around himself. Cold, it was so unbelievably _cold_. He closed his eyes, letting a shiver slip down his spine mostly because it had nowhere else to go. It seemed to move through all of him; he felt chilled in places he hadn't been aware of before.

He opened his eyes to the sound of his bedroom door being all but pulled from its hinges.

The figure standing there was a fright, its wrinkled olive skin stretched over high cheekbones. Black, wary eyes swept every corner of the room, focusing first on the trunk, then briefly upon the spot where Joey stood. It shifted from one black-stockinged ankle to the other, murmuring something unintelligible under its breath, pale with fear.

"Nonna," Joey whispered, hardly daring to move.

" _Va lontana via, diavolo_ ," whispered the old woman, one steady, withered hand flying to her crucifix. " _Lasci il ragazzo nella pace riposarsi_!"

Joey felt tears spring to his eyes, but again there was nothing, only the sting and the tightening in his throat. He was too upset to make sense of what she had said, but a few of the words were clear enough for him to get the gist: _go_ , _devil_ , _boy_ , _peace_ , and _rest_.

"Is it true?" he said aloud, forcing strength into his voice. " _È vero, Nonna_?"

The old woman's hand shook, and as her grip tightened, Joey could see that tears had gathered at her lower lashes, quivering with her every harsh breath. She swallowed.

" _Si_ ," she whispered, turning to go, and found that she wasn't alone.

"You should stay downstairs," Albert Trotta said, taking her gently by the shoulders. "Up here, it's cold. I'll ask Alessandro to do something about the heat, all right?"

"There is nothing for this," she muttered under her breath, casting a glance over her shoulder even as her son steered her away. "You must call the priest, _Alberto_."

"Dad!" Joey cried, rushing toward them, finding that he wanted to do anything but turn away. "Dad, she heard me, she answered, she could—"

" _Salvator mundi, salva nos, qui per crucem et resurrectionem tuam liberasti nos_ ," Nonna said under her breath, voice steady, and faced her son. "Come away now and close this room," she chided him. "You should not be here."

" _Dad_!" The chill turned to panic. She had heard him. She had _answered_ —

Unthinking, Joey ran to his desk and grabbed the nearest object. The alarm clock came away easily under his fingers, but it was still plugged in, and it strained as he grasped it with both hands, hissing. He gave one last, hard yank, and the clock flew free, slipping from his grasp and clattering to the floor. He stared at them, breathing hard.

Nonna crossed herself and took hold of Albert's arm, urging him away.

His father simply stood, staring, and for the first time, Joey noticed that his eyes were red, tired beyond recognition. His jaw tightened with the briefest hint of disbelief.

"I spoke with Father Joe at Carino's," he said calmly, taking his mother by the arm. "They're taking care of him."

"I do not care what they do at the funerals home," Nonna spat. "You call that man _here_."

Joey opened his mouth again, but no sound came out. It couldn't be true. It couldn't. All of this was another dream, and any minute he'd wake up and Billy would be—

_Billy!_

 

* * *

 

They'd been banging at the door for a while, but Billy was too sleepy to answer. Hot water usually did that to him, and bathtubs weren't really uncomfortable. Just cramped.

But somebody had shouted his name, and he was awake now.

"Mr. Tepper, _open_ the door this instant."

Billy sat up, rubbing his eyes. Even if he recognized the voice, he didn't trust it.

"No," Billy said hoarsely, and struggled to his feet, reaching for the towel.

"God _damn_ it, Billy!" Snuffy this time, strained to the verge of tears.

"I'm giving you ten minutes," Dr. Gould continued with dubious calm, "at which time I will be forced to notify personnel that we are in need of a locksmith."

"Jesus Christ," Billy said, louder this time, rubbing his hair with the towel. "I'll come out when I'm finished, okay?"

"You don't take three-hour showers," Hank said. "Period. Listen, we're _worried_ about you, man."

"Mr. Bradberry, Mr. Giles," said Dr. Gould, "I think that will be sufficient. Leave us for a moment, would you?" There was more talking, less distinct.

Billy paused, letting the towel fall over his shoulder, straining to hear all of the voices. His head ached and his back throbbed, but he thought he'd heard—

"Joey?" The question escaped him before he could bite his tongue

There was dead silence from outside, then several loud, hissing intakes of breath.

"Mr. Tepper, I think that you ought to consider—"

"Get the fuck out!" Billy shouted, and collapsed on top of the toilet, shaking.

"Billy, please let—"

"Are you fucking deaf?" Billy couldn't contain his rage; it poured out of him in waves. "I'm not even goddamn dressed! What the hell do you want? Get _out_!"

"I am afraid that's not an option, Mr. Tepper," Dr. Gould said with a heavy sigh. "I've asked your friends to step outside for a moment. This is very hard for them, you know."

"Yeah, well, it's very hard for me, too, and I'd rather just be alone," Billy said, burying his face in the towel to catch his tears. "Why the fuck won't anybody just let…"

" _Listen_ to yourself," Dr. Gould said, just loudly enough to be heard. "You can be a little more forgiving of them, surely. They're here for you. _I'm_ here for you."

Billy blew his nose in the towel and threw it at the door.

"You can't help me," he said harshly, clearing his throat. "You can't give me what I want, okay?"

"Neither can isolating yourself, Mr. Tepper."

"It's better than being watched all the time," Billy spat, which was the truth.

Dr. Gould seemed at a loss for what to say, and just sighed again.

"Do you promise me that you'll come out if I leave you to your friends?" he asked uncertainly. "If you don't, I'm afraid that I _will_ be forced to call staff."

Billy glared at the bath mat, rubbing his eyes.

"Fine."

"Good," said Dr. Gould, sounding relieved, which was the dumbest shit Billy ever heard of, because if he thought Hank was strong enough to break down the door, he was wrong.

There was the sound of footsteps, and then nothing. Billy stood up and went to the door, pressing his ear to the painted wood. The main door was closing, and there was a flurry of nervous whispering. He recognized Ric above the rest of them, saying they should shut the door, this could get ugly. The sniffling had to be Snuffy.

Billy picked the towel up and concentrated on drying his legs. If he couldn't put himself back together, at least he'd make them think he could. He wasn't about to surrender yet, though. If they were idiotic enough to think he'd…well. They could suffer a little longer.

"Okay, Billy," Hank said, apparently the elected spokesman. "I'm not gonna beg your sorry ass, but just so you know, if you're not out by nine, _we're_ calling staff."

"Don't have a clock," Billy said, plucking a tissue out of the holder in the side of the counter. "And for the record, you're overreacting."

"How do we know that?" Ric asked, sounding like he knew he had a point.

Billy decided not to answer and grabbed his toothbrush, then the tube of toothpaste.

"Shit," he heard Snuffy mutter. "Way to go."

"Oh, so _you_ have a better idea?" Ric shot back.

"No! As a matter of fact, I don't!"

Billy bit down hard on his toothbrush, then choked out the suds in the sink.

"Look, guys," Hank said in his listen-up baritone, "stay cool, okay? I've got him."

"You do not," Billy said loudly, rinsing off his brush.

"Okay, now you're just being _childish_."

Billy stared at his reflection in the mirror, then quickly looked away.

"Am not."

"Yes," Hank repeated firmly, "you are. You know damned well that—"

"Stop," Billy said, yanking a fresh towel off the rack and wrapping it around himself. "Just, stop. I know what you're going to say, and I don't wanna fucking hear it."

"What I was going to say was, you know damned well that I have your mother's phone number on this here piece of paper."

"I fucking _hate_ you," Billy snarled, reaching for the doorknob, and stormed out.

"Sure you do, Billy," Hank said, standing there with his arms folded just like Billy was afraid he'd be. Ric and Snuffy were leaning against the table, clutching their own elbows, nervous and pale. None of them seemed to think it was funny, which was something of a relief. Not even Hank was smiling, and he really _was_ holding a piece of motel stationery.

"I need some fucking clothes," Billy said, and went to the closet. That ought to teach them, hovering around like fucking scared little girls or a fucking honor-guard or whatever the fuck…

"I'm sorry," Snuffy said meekly.

Billy stood up, almost dropping his t-shirt and boxers. He stared, confused.

"Excuse me?"

"I panicked," Snuffy said, eyes dropping to the floor. "Called the headmaster."

"Thank you very much," Billy said placidly, then let the towel drop, and turned his back on them to get dressed. Let them remember what they were fucking dealing with.

"What's done is done," Ric said, voice heavy with feeling, and walked over to the bed. "I think we need more sleep. Good night."

"I'm not tired," Snuffy said softly, and swiped his cigarettes off the table. "Going outside."

"Fine," Hank said, although the approving look on his face didn't quite match the screw-you tone of voice. "Be that way."

Snuffy flipped him off and went, slamming the door hard behind him. It would have been a convincing act if they weren't so fucking in cahoots it wasn't even funny.

"What good do you think this will do," Billy asked, struggling into his shirt, wincing. "Huh? Did he promise you you'll pass calc or something? What?"

Hank laughed, deep and bitter. "I wish, Billy. Now, unless you'd like to talk, which I really doubt, I'm gonna get some sleep. I think you should, too."

"Whatever," Billy said, and stared across the room. He could see Snuffy through the slitted blinds, back to the window, sending puffs of smoke into the evening.

He stood still for a few more minutes, watching Hank strip out of his jeans and climb under the covers beside Ric, who complained for a couple seconds, then got up and crawled under, too. Hank leaned to turn out the light, leaving Billy alone in the dark.

Billy found the bed without much trouble, but catching up the covers was a pain. He crawled under the sheets, sprawling out aimlessly. If Snuffy thought he was going to share, he had something coming. Billy pulled the covers up as best he could, smothering his sharp breaths in the pillow. He was almost glad of the pain, if only for distraction.

Lying on his stomach was getting old, though, so he rolled tentatively onto his left side, staring at the wall as his eyes adjusted to the dark. It was white and bland, fragile, like eggshell. Billy closed his eyes, sighing. Sleep could come again if it wanted.

If it didn't, the pain in his back would continue to seep into his stomach, and he'd be sick.

Billy drew his knees up slowly, taking one shallow breath after another. There was nothing to stop this, nothing to keep him from realizing now what a jerk he'd been, how badly he'd treated all of them. He couldn't think about his mother without tasting bile. His head was clouding again, though, which was better than nothing. He wasn't taking the painkillers that somebody—nobody knew who—had managed to smuggle out of the infirmary for him. They'd arrived sometime the evening before, tucked in Snuffy's back pocket. Part of him wished that he knew who was grateful, but the other half of him—

Didn't care. Wanted to _die_.

Billy wound his fingers in the pillowcase, closing his eyes even more tightly. The room was cold, so cold. Fucking air conditioning. The covers couldn't keep it out; his toes felt like ice. He thought about getting up and turning it down, but the thought of moving made his stomach turn so sour that he almost couldn't take it.

He curled up tightly, letting the tears come. Nobody would hear. The others were asleep, and Snuffy was on guard duty, working on his cancer while he was at it. Crying and pillows didn't mix any better than he remembered from childhood, and his _back_ —

Was warm, somehow, the pain dulled and crushed, and his stomach went still.

If only for a moment, Billy felt sheltered and safe. He took a deep breath to quiet himself, then splayed his fingers over his t-shirt. Arms, fingers, hands. _Warm_.

Had to be dreaming, he thought, and slept.

 

* * *

 

The sobbing tore him from nothingness, swept him into the cold.

The room around Joey was dark, filling him with instant dread. He wasn’t certain where he was, but he knew that there had been the floor rushing out from under him, and the sound of his father's voice receding like tide in the distance. He was standing still now, breathless, in a place that was cold and unfamiliar, and someone was sobbing.

In front of him, on a bed, curled into the covers so tightly that it was impossible to tell—

The covers shifted, and a hand shoved them down just far enough to get at a pair of tear-reddened eyes. And Joey realized that he could see, _in the dark_ , who it was.

Billy took a deep, shuddering breath and went impossibly still, fingers clutching at the pillowcase. He bit his lower lip, almost as if confused, and released the air slowly.

Joey couldn't breathe, and for the first time, he was aware that he didn't need to. He was leaning over Billy close enough to feel the air stir with heat, and it seemed to touch him and retreat back to the rhythm of Billy's heart. He couldn't afford to be cautious, he realized, not after what had happened with Dr. Gould and with…at home.

"Billy," he whispered, and touched him, feather-light brush to the shoulder, then bolder, sliding his hand down to the middle of Billy's back. For a single, horrified moment, he realized that the layers of covers were no obstacle, that he'd somehow breached them.

Billy took a last convulsive breath, then sighed, curling in tighter on himself.

Joey pulled his hand back, numb with shock, for the first time noticing where he was.

It was an ordinary motel room, probably at the only decent joint in town—the one just up the road from Regis, one level of simple red brick and low, shadowy awning.

"Oh, God," Joey whispered, but he refused to cry, because he had already proved that was useless. He turned around and saw the other bed, and who was in it. Hank appeared to be fast asleep, but Ric was twitchy, restless, shifting every now and then as if with a chill or a start. The air conditioning was blowing loud enough for Joey to hear it.

Under the circumstances, Joey had no fucking idea what to do, but crying was _not_ an option. He closed his eyes and steeled his nerves, walking around the other bed and to the window, but not without a glance back at Billy. He was already asleep.

Joey stared down at the air conditioner, running his fingers across the vents. He found the dial and turned it away from the too-obvious blue side, then glanced up and through the blinds. Somebody was out there, pacing restlessly back and forth.

 _Snuffy_ , he thought, and found himself on the other side of the glass. It was startling and exhilarating all at once, but the sight of Snuffy was enough to make him forget. There were cigarette remnants all over the concrete, and Snuffy was working on a fresh one, now leaning back against the brick, staring vacantly into the parking lot.

"Hey," Joey said softly. "Snuffy."

Oblivious, Snuffy flicked some glowing ash into the air and took another drag.

Joey swore and stomped on the pavement, but to no avail. None of them could see him or hear him, or at least he'd _thought_ Nonna had heard him, or maybe she could only hear what she wanted to hear, and hadn't she always been like that anyway?

Grim as it was, Joey knew he could do pretty much whatever he wanted, and all that they'd notice was the damage. Quietly, he slipped back through the wall, not even hesitating. He'd done it once; that was enough to prove that he could. It felt like nothing.

Inside the room, it was already warmer, and the air had a quiet, soft feel, none of the terrible agitation from before. Maybe it was because Billy was sleeping now, calm and quiet, alone in the far bed. Joey walked back to him and stood for a few long seconds, feeling helplessness set in. If Billy had been more awake, would it have made a difference? Should Joey have thrown the pen off the nightstand, awakened him?

Oh, God. He couldn't _imagine_. He couldn't even begin to, and there he was, standing there without wanting to say, without wanting to think, but _knowing_ —

Goddamned fucking _pride_ , if he'd only been able to—

If he'd _only_ —

The tears came anyway, or rather, the memory of tears, bitter and sharp. He sank to the floor beside the bed, hammering his fist once into the mattress. Wasn't supposed to be like this, how _could_ it be like this? It was a major failing, sure, but had he deserved…

 _Billy_ hadn't deserved it, and Joey had gone and punished him in the worst way imaginable.

Joey picked himself up off the floor, using the mattress for leverage. It creaked unexpectedly, sinking under—what, exactly, Joey didn't know, perhaps the pressure he was exerting. He paused a moment, wiping his eyes though there was no need, caught once more in bitter fascination. He could move things. Feel things. Be heard, maybe. If he reached out, he could still grab the pen, still throw it, still let somebody who wasn't likely to go saying prayers to ward off devils know—

 _He could move things_.

"I'll come back," Joey whispered, reaching to touch Billy's cheek. "I promise. I have to go someplace, all right?" Billy's skin was fever-warm to touch, just as he remembered…

Joey drew his hand away just as Billy began to stir, shifting restlessly under the covers.

 _I love you_ , he thought, closing his eyes. _I said I loved you two nights ago when we were cramped in that fucking stupid bed and everybody else was asleep_.

When Joey opened his eyes, the moonlight fell just so, and the dinosaur skeleton was just as he remembered: keeping watch, it cast a long and fragile shadow on the wall.

 

* * *

 

_He wants to kill the fucker who made him let go._

_He's being dragged inside against his will, Hank at one arm and Snuffy at the other as soon as the guard lets go of him. He lets all his weight fall as low as he possibly can; that trick always worked when he was a kid. No use, though, because Hank is stronger, and Snuffy is scared enough to clamp down just as hard, if not harder._

_"Let me_ go _—"_

_"You're gonna get yourself killed, too, Billy," Hank says harshly, struggling with Snuffy to drag him into the cafeteria. "You've got to stop—"_

_"_ JOEY! _"_

_The guards on either side of the door look frightened, too, but Billy lashes out at one of them all the same, kicking at the stupid fucker's shins. He misses, and the guard says something to his buddy in Spanish. Ric, already hovering inside the cafeteria, is pale with terror, arms wrapped around himself. He's staring at them like he doesn't know them._

_"He…he's…"_

_"Yeah, Ric," Snuffy says, letting go of Billy's arm, and Hank lets go at the same time._

_Billy lands flat on the floor, breath knocked out of him for only a second before Hank bends down to offer him a trembling, sweat-slick hand. He rolls away, gasping, and starts for the doors, which are closing as the last of the guys file inside. He has to—_

_More rapid Spanish; he's knocked back from the closing doors by somebody's machine gun. He recovers himself, can feel the stickiness on his back, and grabs the handles for all he's worth. If Hank is fucking strong enough to keep him from saving Joey's life, then he's got to be at least strong enough to get back to him since he doesn't give a shit about his own._

_"You fucking bastards!"_

_The doors are already being held fast from the outside, perhaps even locked. Billy pounds until his fists are at least as sore as the rest of him, blinded by tears. When he can't hold it off any longer, the nausea comes in waves, racking him till he can hardly stand, choking, till somebody takes hold of his shoulders so he doesn't fall to the floor._

_When the door opens a minute or an hour later, Joey is gone._

"Billy," Snuffy pleaded, shaking his shoulder. "C'mon, Billy. Please—"

"I'm _awake_ ," Billy hissed, lashing out at him, sending the sheets and comforter flying. "Look, what the _fuck_ —"

"You scared me, okay?" Snuffy was huddled on the far side of the mattress, arms tight around his pillow, red-eyed and petrified. "What was I supposed to do, just let you—"

"Shut up," Billy said, covering his face with both hands, "right now." Tears and sweat, he was a complete fucking _mess_. So much for falling asleep easy.

"What?" Ric muttered sleepily. He thrashed around noisily on the other bed, and Hank swore at him. "No, really, what—"

"Nothing," Snuffy said, and Billy felt him get up, tugging the covers almost completely off the bed. "It's fucking noon already," he added. "I'm getting up."

Billy knew that if he had to look at any of them, he was going to lose it, so he just rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow. Solved two problems at once, really.

"Jesus _Christ_ , Billy," Hank said with feeling. "Your…"

"Would you be quiet, huh?" Ric said under his breath, almost angry. "I told you, just leave him alone."

"Oh, yeah, like his back's gonna get any better if he just keeps ignoring it like it's not even—"

"If you don't shove it," Snuffy shouted, voice echoing like he was already in the bathroom, "I think we're both going to kill you."

"Speak for yourself," Billy muttered, and tried to lever himself up just as the phone rang.

"Got it," Ric said, diving behind Hank. He sprawled across the pillows and grabbed the receiver, knocking the rest of the phone on the floor. "Hello?"

Billy sat up straight, wincing. There was dried, splotchy blood on the sheets.

"Who is it?" Hank whispered loudly.

"Shhh," Ric said, covering the mouthpiece, nodding into it as if whoever was there could see him. "Uh-huh. Yeah, we're up. No, sir, everything's fine. I guess. Yeah. No. Wait, did you—" Ric's brow furrowed, and his eyes went still, his face falling "—that fast? Really? I…don't know, sir. I don't know. That's good, yeah. Good. Okay."

He hung up and looked at Billy, ignoring Hank's impatient gestures.

"That was Parker. He's been discharged. He's coming here today."

Billy felt his stomach drop. "Anything else? That was an awful lot of 'yeah' and 'okay' and shit for a simple notification," he said acidly. "Lemme guess, press conference?"

For a second, Ric looked like he wanted to hit everybody.

"No," he said softly. "Parker says the funeral's tomorrow, and we're all allowed to go."

"The whole school?" Hank asked incredulously.

Billy's stomach twisted again, this time more urgently. "Did," he began, uncertain of how to speak without tears getting in the way, "he say how…"

"No, idiot, not the whole school," Ric said, tossing a pillow at Hank. "Us. You know. Billy and whoever he wants to bring."

"He put it like that?" Billy asked, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He had to get to the bathroom A.S.A.P. or he'd regret trying to treat this like a normal conversation.

"Yeah," Ric said, staring at the floor. "Has to be okay with our parents."

"Like hell," Billy said, and marched to the bathroom, where Snuffy was trying to shave. He moved out of the way quickly, flattening himself up against the counter while Billy threw up the lid of the toilet. Good thing he hadn't actually eaten much.

"Jesus," Snuffy said quietly, taking him by the shoulders. "I'm sorry. I'm fucking so—"

"Just do me a favor," Billy gritted out, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, "and stop apologizing, okay? Now, lemme shower without Hank breaking the door down. We've got company coming."

"Sure," Snuffy said, letting go of him, and left quickly.

The hot water wasn't any more reassuring than it had been the day before, but it took his blood and tears and made nothing of them. The pink towel, he couldn't do much about.

They were all dressed and sprawled on the beds and floor watching CNN when the first knock came. There was something wrong about watching news updates about the situation you were sitting in, but Billy wasn't sure he could look away. Seeing what they saw from the outside was better than wallowing inside. Ric answered the door.

"Is Billy there?" asked a familiar voice, not bothering with a polite greeting.

"Yes," Billy said, but didn't get up.

"Oh, good," Barbara said, peering in past Ric's uncertain expression. "Honey?"

Billy rolled his eyes at the television. "What?"

"Would you like to go someplace for lunch, or should I bring you something?"

That was unexpected. "Actually, if you could just get something, that would be great," Billy said, looking up at her. "I'd rather…" He made a vague gesture at the television.

"Of course," Barbara said, frowning slightly, then glanced at Ric. "Would…the rest of you care for anything?"

"No thanks," Snuffy said absently, "but—um, thanks."

Billy elbowed him, and Hank happened to see.

"Don't know about you, but I haven't had Mara's pizza in _ages_ ," he said, pulling off the gee-whiz kind of earnest surprisingly well. "That cool?" he asked, looking at Billy, then at Ric, who just shrugged.

"They do takeout?" Billy said carefully, glancing at Hank.

"Yeah, last time I checked."

Barbara smiled patiently, but underneath, her expression was thin.

"Okay, so…two large pizzas," Billy said, putting his brain on autopilot. "One cheese, one pepperoni. No mushrooms."

"I know you don't like them," his mother said. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, 2-liters of Coke and root beer."

Snuffy opened his mouth as if to protest, but Billy just elbowed him again.

"All right, then, Barbara said, forcing the smile wider. "Be back in a bit." She turned crisply, closing the door behind her.

"Jesus Christ," Ric said, staring at Billy. "If I pulled a stunt like that, my mom would kill me."

"She's used to it," Billy said, and turned his attention back to the television.

Forty-five minutes later, they had soda and pizza, and in a startling, unprecedented maneuver, Barbara actually stuck around to have a piece and chat with them. Billy picked the pepperoni off his piece and kept one eye on the television, idly considering the fact that he had no desire to eat whatsoever. His mother was talking to Ric, and Ric didn't seem to know what to do about it. Snuffy and Hank were having a private laugh at his expense.

"I suppose I'd better be going," she said at length, using up her tenth napkin and dropping it delicately on her paper plate. She tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled at Ric. "I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed hearing about San Diego."

"Sure," Ric mumbled into his Coke. "Any time."

"Billy, are you sure you wouldn't rather—"

"Mom, I'm not _going_ anywhere." Billy took a second bite of his pizza and felt his stomach churn. "They're gonna reopen soon. Par—Dean Parker is out of the hospital."

Barbara raised her eyebrows. "Has he been here?"

"Should be any minute," Billy said, lying through his teeth. Ric hadn't said when.

"Well, then, unless there's anything you'd like me to discuss with him, I had better…"

"I'll be all right," Billy said, standing up. "I'll walk you out."

The air was chilly, unlike a few days before. Barbara pulled her jacket more tightly around herself and paused at the driver's side door, studying Billy with the closest thing to a look of concern that she could manage. Her frown didn't even look forced.

"Billy," she said slowly, "you know that if there's anything…"

"Mom," he whispered. "Don't."

She nodded curtly, then turned and slotted the key into the lock.

"Please take care, and let me know, okay?"

"Yeah," Billy said. "After I'm back from New Jersey."

Barbara looked up, startled. "What?" she asked, blinking.

Billy swallowed, giving her a hard look. "I'm going," he said, taking a deep breath, "to New Jersey tomorrow."

It took a few minutes to sink in, and her look was almost as pathetic as before.

"Oh. Well, then. Be careful."

She got into the car, waving as she started up the ignition.

"Bye," Billy said, even though she couldn't hear him. He stood there until she had pulled out and gone, wondering if he had really been as awful to her as Ric seemed to think.

When he got back inside, the guys were all on thirds or fourths except for Ric, who was stretched out on the bed, flipping channels. Billy wanted to tell him to stop, but it would've meant wasting his breath. Parker would be showing up sometime, and he _did_ hope it would be soon. Anything to break the fucking monotony.

When the phone rang, all of them jumped to answer it. Snuffy got there first.

"Parker's coming," he said two seconds later, hand over the mouthpiece as he hung it up.

"Great," Ric said. "Maybe he knows more about…"

"Anything," Hank said helpfully. "How we're getting to—"

"Don't push it," Billy said, and sat down on the edge of the nearest bed.

For the next fifteen minutes, nobody said a word until there was a knock at the door.

Billy started from the foot of the bed, then stopped himself, freezing. He couldn't do that. He wasn't fucking helpless; he could wait. Besides, Ric was getting good at this.

"Hey, boys," Parker said, stepping into the room without any hesitation at all. After Billy's mother, it was somehow a huge relief. Ric actually looked happy to see him.

"Hey," Snuffy said, cracking a smile.

"Yeah." Hank didn't smile, but he was all ears.

Parker nodded, kind of smiling himself, but his eyes flew to Billy right away. He pushed the door shut and told Ric it was all right, he could sit down, they had things to discuss. Parker took a seat at the table, sparing a moment of confusion for the pizza boxes, then looked as if he decided a split second later that he'd rather not know.

"Okay, look," he started, staring at the Coke bottle, dragging his eyes away to look at each one of them in turn as if it was the hardest thing he'd ever done. "I don't want to have to tell you this, but I've spoken to all of your parents. I'm sure Mr. Montoya has told you about tomorrow."

"Yeah," Hank repeated, and Billy was grateful.

Parker nodded, then continued, "Billy, I know your mother's here. I figured you've probably talked to her, and the only person I could get a hold of was your father. He didn't seem too hot on the idea of Albert Trotta's offer to drive you all down there, but I reassured him I'd be going, too. Any questions?"

"No," Billy said automatically, even though it caught in his throat and lodged there.

"Sir, what about the rest of us?" Snuffy asked.

"Mr. Bradberry," Parker said, rubbing his forehead with his right hand, then leaning heavily into it, "I'm afraid I've got bad news for you, so I won't try to sugar-coat it. Your father—and yours, Mr. Giles—have strictly forbidden you from going, and I don't think I have to tell you why."

Hank's eyes flew up, filled with rage.

"That's not fucking possible, how—"

"Oh, think about it, genius," Snuffy said bitterly. "They've got second fucking terms to think about, that's fucking _how_."

Parker took a deep breath. "Mr. Bradberry, I know—"

"No, you don't fucking know," Snuffy said, standing up, pointing an accusatory finger. "You don't fucking know what it's like having a fucking Republican _asshole_ for a father who only cares about his career and won't acknowledge his son's fucking _friend_ because _his_ father's a fucking—"

"Mr. Bradberry," Parker said, raising his voice, eyes wide, "that is _enough_!"

Snuffy was in tears, and Billy was too shocked to do anything but wind his fingers in the comforter and wish he could disappear on the spot. Jesus Christ. Jesus _Christ_.

"Sit down, Snuff," Hank said roughly, defeated. "Yes, sir," he said quietly. "Understood."

Parker nodded tersely, then looked at Ric.

"Mr. Montoya, you will accompany Mr. Tepper to the funeral."

There it was, the word again, heavy and forbidding. Billy clutched harder at the fabric.

"Sir?" Ric said, almost disbelieving.

"Your parents were reluctant," Parker admitted, "but willing."

Billy closed his eyes tightly. The floor rushed up to meet him anyway, and then there was nothing, just the gnawing ache of his stomach drawing him in, and voices overhead.

 

* * *

 

Joey wasn't sure how long he'd been in the room, but it was daylight when he finally gave it a thought. He sat down on the edge of Derek's bed, feeling suddenly tired. He wondered if he could sleep, or if sleep even mattered anymore. The question scared him.

"Shut up," he told himself. "You've gotta find it."

Not that it took any finding. It was right there on the floor, peeking out from under Ted's bed as if it had been dropped carelessly, maybe kicked, slid and landed askew.

Joey knelt down slowly, reaching for the battered, bent blue corner with hesitation. When he pressed down, it felt solid under his touch, and when he pulled it toward himself, it came easily. He stared down at the sketchbook, still doubtful. There was his name, just where he'd scribbled it in black marker that day in the art room. He picked it up, walking back to the bed. So solid in his grasp, so familiar it was cruel.

"Okay," he said to himself. "Okay."

Flipping through, he couldn't see any damage, nothing taken, nothing altered. Colored doodling like hallucination, brick wall crumbling like dust. He ran his fingers across the first portrait, slow and intent. The graphite smudged effortlessly.

Something clenched in his chest, just a stir, empty enough to ache.

"Shit," he whispered, and did it again, disbelieving.

He could leave traces of touch. Not fingerprints, but smudges, as if something had been drawn across the page, something smooth and indefinite and _real_ nonetheless.

Joey got up without thinking, clutching the book to his chest, and went over to the computer desk. There had to be something to write with. There _had_ to be.

He spotted a pen on the floor, and bent to pick it up. The computer chair would do. He sat down, shaking, still aware of how strange any tremor felt, as if…as if he could do this, really _do_ this, as if he still meant something in the weave of space. He felt cold as he flipped the pages, searching for one blank. He hit the back and recoiled, hadn't realized what was there. Song lyrics. He had been writing a song.

He held off the tears, the nothingness, and turned past them, shaking.

When he set the pen to the page and pushed, it wrote so easily as to mock him. Line, curve, scribble. Furious dots of punctuation. Lift and set down again, driven like a nail. Joey paused for a moment, trembling, and the ink left a wobbly dash.

This was evidence that he was here, and nobody could make it go away. Not like an alarm clock knocked over, which could be put back, ignored. Ink was _permanent_.

Very carefully, slowly and with deliberation, Joey began to write.

 

* * *

 

Billy was having another bad night, to say the least. By the time he'd come back around that afternoon, somebody had put him on the bed, and there had been the school nurse sitting over at the table, quietly conversing with Parker. She'd left shortly after, and Parker had informed him that he had to start eating or he'd collapse again. Blood sugar, who'd have thought? The other guys had been outside, voices muted beyond the door.

The sheets weren't getting any more comfortable, and Snuffy snored like nobody's business. Well, maybe like Hank's business, but Billy wasn't Hank. He couldn't sleep. His back itched and felt vaguely sticky; maybe the nurse had put something on it.

Before leaving, Parker had said that somebody would stop by with clothes for him and Ric. Somebody had turned out to be Dr. Gould, looking less timid than he had the other day, which was an improvement, because Billy was getting fucking sick of the tip-toeing.

Hesitantly, Billy closed his eyes and drifted.

_He leans against the wall until he's pretty sure he's going to leave a stain, wishing with all his might that he were blind. Can't sleep, can't hide. The shadow stretches on into infinity, outlined by the pale spotlight. Something is conspicuously missing._

_Like a fucking moron, he'd let them do it._

_The room is quiet except for night-sounds: Snuffy's relentless snoring, Hank shifting in his sleep, the freshmen whispering breathlessly like they think everybody else is sleeping. For the most part, everybody else is. Billy doesn't feel like sleeping. There's no point._

_He doesn't know if he can sleep anymore, anyway._

_If he could change one thing, it would be that he'd break Hank's fucking arms. For starters. He plays it out against the wall, counting the minutes. If he'd gotten free, he could have run. Billy's fast, and he knows it, fucking proved it. He counts the seconds to the stairs, such a pitiful distance, and knows he could've gotten Joey down when the bullets started to fly, maybe taking a couple himself. And if he'd died, at least—_

_The shadow twists and blurs to the sound of a helicopter, and there is nothing._

_Where he is now is darkness, obscurity so full and complete that he can't help but be thankful. He feels the tracks of tears on his cheeks—they burn like acid—but at the brush of his fingertips, there's nothing. Nothing but air and burning and a wish._

_Under his fingers, it feels like paper. And against the paper—_

_Fingers._

Billy woke with a start, hand fisted in the pillowcase. Immediately in his view was the next bed over, Ric facing him with peaceful, slumbering features. There was a faint, watery light filtering through the blinds. Dawn already, insistent as Snuffy's racket.

"Cut it out," Billy hissed, rolling over to poke him in the side.

" _Hmmm_ ," Snuffy whined, flinching away. "What."

"You fucking snore," Billy said.

"Talk in your sleep," Snuffy muttered, burrowing into the pillows.

Billy froze. "What?"

"You talk in your sleep," Snuffy mumbled. "G'back, huh?"

"Can't," Billy muttered, rolling away from him. He hadn't talked in his dreams, and he could remember them pretty clearly, thanks but no thanks, up until—

"You steal the covers, too," Snuffy said, sounding more awake.

"Do not," Billy shot back, not bothering to lower his voice. "Haven't been moving around much, in case you haven't noticed."

"Billy, shut up," Snuffy said, sounding like he'd lifted his head. "I woke up about half an hour ago, and every single _fucking_ bit of the comforter was piled on you."

"Not now," Billy pointed out, though he doubted that would help.

"I took it back, Sherlock."

"Whatever," Billy said, and threw all his covers over on Snuffy, see if he cared. He was going to take a fucking shower, then figure out what the hell time it was.

Ric was waiting when he finished, so Billy mumbled an apology on his way to the closet. At least Gould had been thorough in the shit he grabbed for them, if a little vague on the details. Billy was sure Joey wouldn't approve of brown socks with a blue shirt, but—

He bit his lip until something tore.

"Oh, geez," Snuffy said, looking up from a cold slice of pizza at the table. "What'd you do?"

"Never mind," Billy said, finishing the buttons on his shirt with one hand and holding the other to the corner of his mouth. "Gimme a napkin, would you?"

Snuffy handed one over, pulling his hand back as if he'd just fed a snake.

"Thanks," Billy said behind the napkin, and sat down in the other chair. The tie he'd slung over his shoulder slipped off. It wasn't even his damn tie, had Gould known that?

Snuffy slid a piece of pizza to him on a clean napkin, eyes hard.

Eventually, Ric came out of the bathroom and had a minor panic attack. Gould had grabbed the wrong dress shoes. Billy tossed the napkin at the nearest garbage can and missed. His back prickled, but there'd been no blood in the shower. On the napkin now.

At a quarter till seven, somebody knocked on the door.

"It's Parker," Hank said, leaning away from the peephole. "Should I let him in?"

"What the hell do you think?" Ric said, hopping around on one foot.

Hank glanced at Billy. "He's driving you guys, right?"

"Yeah, I gue—" Billy paused, frowning at the pizza in his hand. Parker hadn't said, exactly. He'd said that Ric would _accompany_ him, whatever the hell that meant, but he'd also said that _he_ would be—

"Open the door, you idiot," Ric said, shoving his foot into his other shoe.

"Okay," Hank said, and did.

"Good morning, boys." Parker looked like he'd gotten at least as little sleep as they had.

"'Morning," Snuffy said, mouth full.

"Breakfast?" Parker asked, eyes drifting back to Billy.

"Yes, sir," Billy said, and took another bite. The cheese soured on his tongue.

"Good. Almost ready, Mr. Montoya?"

"Yeah, let me tie these," Ric mumbled, bending over so nobody could see his face.

"Don't be stupid," Snuffy said, brushing his hands on his bare thighs. "Nobody's going to be looking at your shoes."

"Except me," Ric said, looking up long enough to shoot a hateful glance across the room.

"The car's waiting," Parker said.

"Your car?" Billy asked, setting the remainder of his pizza down on the table.

"No," Parker said, the word dropping like a stone.

_Oh, God, no, no, no, fucking **no**!_

"Ready when you are," Ric said, standing up with a sigh, oblivious.

Parker stood, clasping his hands in front of him. "Good. I'll be following, understood?"

Ric shrugged into his suit coat. "What?"

"I said," Parker repeated, opening the door to let in the cool air. "I'll be following."

Billy stood up, steadying himself for a moment against the table. Snuffy was looking at him with eyes rounder than golf balls. He'd gotten it, all right. For a second, Billy wished Snuffy had been allowed to go. In a lot of ways, it would have been simpler.

They didn't even have to cross the parking lot. Albert Trotta's car was pulled up to the curb just a few yards down from their room, tail pipe billowing grayish smoke into the chill. Parker kept walking until he reached one of the rows of cars, and Billy spotted his station wagon. He gave them one long look before opening the door, then got in.

"Wait a minute," Ric said, "did he just—"

"Follow me and don't ask any fucking questions, got it?" Billy said, and started for the limo. A few steps before he got there, the driver's door swung open. He heard Ric freeze behind him, then start walking again. Alessandro got out, nodded at them, and opened the back, pulling the door wide.

"Oh, fuck," Ric said under his breath.

Billy hissed through his clenched teeth, making a vague gesture at his side.

Ric took that to mean he should get in first, so he did, sliding to the far side of the fine leather interior. Billy made sure he was settled, then climbed in after him, not daring to look at their escort. Wouldn't have made difference, anyway. He always wore sunglasses and never smiled, not that Billy had seen, and sure wasn't about to start.   


"Why didn't Parker _say_ something?" Ric moaned as soon as the car lurched into motion. He ran his fingers through his hair, staring wildly at the ceiling. "This is fucked up," he whispered. "Really fucked up."

Billy bit his thumbnail and stared out the window. "He won't hurt us," he muttered.

"Oh, that's so easy for you to say! At least you've done this before!"

"Like you've never ridden in a limo?" Billy asked, sarcastic.

"Not a _mobster's_ limo!"

"Shut," Billy said, rounding on him, lunging across the seat, "the fuck. _Up_."

Ric flattened himself against the wall, wide-eyed.

"Okay! Okay, Jesus. _Okay_ , I said—"

There was a click, a soft thud, then the clatter of glass clinking.

Billy froze, sprawled across the middle seat, almost in Ric's lap. The mini-fridge door swung shut with a snap as the car rounded a curve. There were bottles everywhere, rolling around on the floor, scattering, colliding with each other.

Ric made a choked noise, which was enough to bring Billy's attention back to him.

"Don't look so shocked, it was just—"

Ric was shivering, his fingers digging hard into the door panel.

"Those things need keys," he said in a strange voice.

"What?" Billy said. "No, look," he said, sliding down off the seat. He crawled across the floor, scattering bottles, and reached for the fridge door. "See, this one—"

Wouldn't fucking budge. There was a keyhole; why hadn't he noticed that before?

"I said, those things fucking _lock_ ," Ric said, his voice dropping to a hollow rasp.

Billy yanked on the handle until his hand hurt. The bottles rolled around, clinking aimlessly. He kicked one away, slumping against the wall, feeling cold glass at the base of his skull. This wasn't fucking funny, and he didn't even want soda.

"Okay, so it locked itself," Billy said, gathering all the bottles up. "It was always unlocked before. When—"

Ric was staring at the bottles like they might bite Billy.

"We'll just put 'em in this here side-pocket thing, see?" Billy said, slipping the bottles in demonstratively. "See? If he asks when we get there, I'll just tell him—"

"That's weird, Billy," Ric said, finally letting his hand fall limp at his side.

"No, it's fucking random, now get over it already." Billy reached down and grabbed the nearest bottle. He didn't care what it was, but he didn't have to look to know.

"Want one?" he asked Ric, holding it out to him.

"No thanks," Ric said weakly.

After that, they rode in silence.

Billy had half expected them to end up at the Trotta house first for some kind of personal greeting from Albert, but once they got off the endless string of confusing highway exits and into town, the limo took a path that wasn't at all familiar. Okay, then, funeral home. Billy kept his eyes peeled, squinting for a sign or something, but a sign never came.

What came was a church, immense and carved and beautiful in the brightening sun.

"I thought they did this at…" Ric trailed off helplessly as the car took a sharp turn into the driveway. The church loomed over them now, blocking out the light.

"Yeah," Billy said, feeling them slow to a stop.

When Alessandro let them out, he seemed not to notice the misplaced soda bottles. Billy was grateful that the door closed as quickly as it opened, and he took a few minutes to stretch while Ric wandered up to the curb, blinking across the street. Nice houses.

Unexpectedly, Alessandro spoke.

"Follow me, please. We're running late."

Billy straightened up, feeling his stomach drop in desperation. Darting past Alessandro, he started for the front doors, and heard two sets of footsteps rushing to catch up with him. Panting, he grasped one of the handles just as a pair of hands fell on his shoulders.

"I won't repeat myself," Alessandro said, and pulled him away from the door.

Ric caught hold of Billy's arm and held him still, staring straight past him and at the sunglasses. Without another word, Alessandro turned from them and opened the doors.

There was organ music inside, much softer than Billy would have expected. Ric kept a firm hold on his arm, keeping them well behind Alessandro. Before they cleared the vestibule, which was dry and smelled faintly of incense, Ric used his left hand to dab at the basin of Holy Water and made an apologetic face straight ahead, which was—

The aisle, the altar. Vaulted ceiling high overhead, dizzying paint and gold. Windows on all sides, gliding past with each step, images too varied for Billy to piece them out and back together again. Ric was looking straight ahead, because how else could they be going, how else when he could only look here and there and, oh, the people. _Shit_.

Billy let his eyes drop to his feet. Dusty, dark red carpet. Did all churches have—

Ric was tugging his arm, tugging as if to say, _we turn here_. Which was exactly what he meant, so Billy followed, finally lifting his eyes, glancing into the row. Alessandro was sitting there, and now Ric was letting go of Billy's arm and starting to sit down beside him. Billy realized they were in the second row and found that he _had_ to sit, or else his legs wouldn't support him.

He knew the guy in front of them. Both of the guys, even from the back. There was a young woman in a hat, her sleek hair knotted at the nape of her neck, and a toddler hanging over her shoulder and onto the back of the pew, small fingers clutching at the worn wood. None of them turned around, but the baby's eyes lit like two sparks.

"Bee," she said out loud.

 _Let me die_ , Billy thought, and stared past her to the altar.

Coffin, check. That wasn't a shock, he _knew_ he was in for that. Closed, thank _fucking_ God. He hadn't expected otherwise. The picture was the problem. Joey almost never smiled, but somehow, in this picture that they'd blown up way, _way_ too big, Joey was smiling like— _like_ —

_"Trotta, Joseph. Trotta?"_

_"I'm over here," Joey says, stepping out of line because Billy's all but pushed him. Jesus, why does he hate pictures? He looks so fucking good in pictures, or at least Billy thinks he would, and hell, he hasn't known him for very long. Joey hides a lot of shit._

_"Okay. Sit right up there."_

_Joey frowns at the stool, then turns around and arranges himself on it. Can't be that uncomfortable, it's only for a few seconds. He gives Billy a familiar look, the look he gives when he's not amused, and then stares straight to where the guy's pointing, somewhere just beyond the camera lens. He isn't smiling; his frown just deepens._

_Billy doesn't think. He stares at Joey until Joey has no choice but to stare back._

_This time, Joey gives him the "What, asshole?" look._

_Billy crosses his eyes and sticks his tongue out, which is totally fucking junior high, but he doesn't care, because as his vision clears, the flash is fading and Joey's smile is blinding, a new smile, one that he inexplicably wants to see as often as possible from now on, or maybe for the rest of his life, but that thought fades, because it's ridiculous._

Someone was speaking, now, Joey's name fading into an unending string of syllables that echoed around the room, which was a blur now because Billy had his eyes squeezed tight on tears that burned worse than the ones that he'd dreamed about, and he couldn't look up, oh _God_ , he couldn't, and _where the fuck was God anyway_?

Every once in a while, there'd be a touch at his arm, and he'd stand. He'd try to respond when everyone else did, but no sound came out. He kept staring down at the back of the pew, at the holder for hymn books, and every once in a while Gina's fingers would swim before his eyes, sometimes scratching at the wood as she started to fuss, sometimes reaching for his tie. He couldn't bring himself to extend so much as a finger, and if Cecilia had turned to look at him, he didn't know about it, and was better not knowing.

Ric reached for a hymnbook at one point, swearing softly as he flipped through.

Billy sat down when Ric urged it at him, refusing to sing. He knew the melody from somewhere, and there was a clear, thin soprano ahead of him, and Gina was crying.

He closed his eyes, leaned forward, and hoped they would take his sobbing for prayer.

 

* * *

 

He hadn't wanted to leave the motel room. It had been funny, watching Snuffy twitch in his sleep as all the covers drew back from him, draping elegantly over Billy. He had bitten his lip, then, or what passed for it, and held…still as Billy stirred, and subsided.

After that, Joey had gone back to the notebook, safe in the empty dorm room. He'd put it back where he'd found it, but it taunted him now, and he'd left the pen beside it.

It wouldn't hurt to work on the song. It couldn't hurt any more than what he'd done to that page near the back, couldn't hurt any more than his meddling _would_.

Joey frowned and kept writing, tapping the page with the end of the pen. The lines sucked. Badly. When had he started writing this, anyway, and _why_ was it saying what it was saying? If he thought about that question too hard, he'd laugh, or maybe cry.

He was tired of crying that didn't amount to anything, so he'd resolved to give it up.

And just when he thought he'd caught the hang of what was going on, what he should say, the book slid out of his lap, helter-skelter on the floor, and he was standing in broad daylight, sun glaring off brick and stone into his disbelieving eyes.

Frightening, really, how the pieces just slid into place.

"Fuck," he said, and dropped the pen on the asphalt.

He hadn't been to Mass there since at least Christmas, though he wasn't about to count the months. Easy to rush up to the doors, take both handles in hand, and _freeze_.

He didn't, _couldn't_.

Joey let go and shrank back, staggering into a crack in the sidewalk, and tripped. He might have been shocked at the lack of pain if he hadn't been shocked already at the implication of why he was here, what was going on inside, and _who_ was inside.

He backed up a few feet and rolled into the grass, shaking. So real under his fingers, so _fucking_ real, and _why_? He could shake with rage all he wanted, curse about the crying all he wanted, but in the end, nobody, not even the young boys he didn't even know who were playing hide-and-seek in the bushes and who had probably snuck out during a hymn, could see him or hear him. Some fucking talent, fucking _being there_. He hadn't managed to bring the notebook, and even if he had, how would he explain—well, fuck, he wouldn't even have been able to _explain_ —

"Don't know what I'm gonna _do_ with you, honey," said a teary young woman's voice from inside, punctuated by staccato heels, pacing.

Then, he heard the baby screaming.

"Oh, God," he said, head flying up.

Gina wailed, probably because the organ had started playing. The doors burst open before Joey could collect himself, and there was Cecilia, struggling with the heavy wooden slabs on their hinges, Gina clutched tight to one hip. She wore a hat, no veil, and her mascara was running all over the place. The baby screeched and thrashed, words Joey couldn't make out, but more words than he'd ever heard out of the kid's mouth.

"Gina," he said softly, sitting up. Waved at her, hell of a lot of good that would do.

"Mamamam," she was sobbing, "no! Wann'goback'n—" She stopped with a hiccup, sticking her fist in her mouth, suddenly, oddly still. "Mmphy," she said, pointing.

Straight at him.

Joey struggled to his feet, brushing his hands off on his jeans, what the _fuck_ was up with his clothes feeling just like they always—and _stared_ at her.

"Gina?"

Gina's fingers uncurled, hand waving, as if reaching now.

Cecilia sniffled loudly, burying her nose in the lace ruffle at the baby's shoulder. Not too graceful, but Joey couldn't help but feel sorry that she had no tissues, and why the hell was that so funny? Gina let her other hand fall from her mouth, trailing a thin strand of slobber, and smiled, waving and waving.

"Look," she said, and yeah, that had always been her favorite word.

"What, honey?"

"Joey," Gina said clearly. "There."

Cecilia made a choking sound that seemed for a second like it might turn to laughter, but it broke on a full sob, and she held the baby so close that Joey thought she might suffocate her. Gina squirmed and screamed again, trying to get free.

"I wish I could tell you that," Cecilia was saying, muffled and tear-stricken. "Oh, how I wish I could tell you that, honey, but he's—"

"Don't," Joey said, taking a few steps toward them. "Please don't—"

"Want Daddy," Gina said petulantly, grabbing Cecilia's hat and throwing it down on the sidewalk.

Joey bent and lifted it by the brim, then froze, wishing he'd never tried any of this.

Cecilia was bent directly across from him, Gina twisted over almost to the ground with a determined look in her eyes, fingertips hovering just above the top of the hat, blinking.

"No!" Joey shouted, dropping the hat. " _Fuck_!"

Cecilia crossed herself and sniffled, gathering the baby back in with a huff, and picked the hat up quickly, shoving it back on her head at a skewed angle. Her hair flew in wisps.

Joey clenched his hand to his chest, shaking. He _couldn't_ —

With that, the doors swung open, and Cecilia turned around, stepping to one side.

People now, lots of them. People he knew and people he didn't—random classmates from public school whose names he hadn't bothered to learn, but only a few of them. Relatives who had sooner given him expensive presents than the time of day. Dean, God, and Eric—and the rest of them, the Brigade in a quiet knot, walking right past him, Dean's copper hair like fire in the sun. More relatives, ones whose names he definitely knew, but for whom he couldn't spare a thought, because Dominic was there, red-eyed, gathering Ceci and the baby in close, and then—

His father, his father and his uncle and Taddeo in a line, eyes held high and straight ahead, so different than the rest of them. Taddeo lingered uncertainly around his father and Dominic; there was a crowd spread in odd directions, some going to cars, some talking in the parking lot.

And all Joey had to do was turn, and there was Ric, flinching back with a start as if something had burned him, bumping into Billy beside him.

It was the strangest thing, seeing him awake for the first time since it all began, like looking for an instant into a mirror and finding recognition in his own reflection.

"C'mon, we've gotta find the car," Ric said, recovering himself, tugging on Billy's arm.

Joey tried to speak, but he couldn't form words, and Billy was still looking straight at him, or past him, and he looked exactly the way Joey was feeling, only worse, because he seemed to have found all the tears that Joey had lost for hours and hours and _hours_.

"Right," Billy said, and turned, moving like a sleepwalker or a blind man, Ric's arm clutched to his own. They turned their backs on him, or rather, on where he was.

Joey wrapped both arms around himself and closed his eyes, cold with shock.

_Let this not be happening._

_Let me not be here._

_Let me—_

"You must come along now, Cecilia," said an old, tired voice. "You must come quickly, _cara_."

Joey blinked, expecting his vision to be blurred, but of course, it wasn't, and there was Nonna with an iron arm around Cecilia, urging her along. Dominic followed behind with Gina in his arms, and the baby was smiling now, much calmer.

"Bye," she said, looking at Joey again.

"Gee, thanks," Joey shot back irritably.

Gina shrank against Dom's shoulder, sucking her fist defensively.

"I'm sorry," Joey said, no matter how useless, and followed them, searching the lot for Billy. He spotted Ric beside one of his father's cars, and concluded that, by extension, Billy was already inside. It turned out he was right. To rush to them was nothing.

Inside the car, Joey kept to the panel between the driver's seat and the back. Billy and Ric were at opposite ends of the wide seat, as of shrunk as far from each other as they could possibly get. There were a handful of bottles of soda stuck in one of the wall panels, which struck him as fucking odd, and then not so much when he remembered that the door tended to swing and stick and do funny shit like lock itself. Must have spilled.

"Look at me," he whispered, fingers splayed along the panel, glancing back and forth between them. "Fucking _hell_ , somebody _look_ at me."

Ric shivered and wrapped his coat shut, not bothering with the buttons. Billy didn't move, not the faintest sign that he had heard, and the car was starting up.

Suddenly, Joey remembered something.

"Ric," he said, louder this time. " _Ric_?"

"Cut it out," Ric said, turning to Billy sharply.

Billy had his eyes closed now, and there were fresh tear-tracks on his cheeks.

"What?" he asked, anger welling in his voice like Joey had never heard before.

"If you want to talk, just fucking _out_ with it, okay?"

"That's funny," Billy said. "Really fucking funny."

Ric kicked the floor, and Joey jumped, hadn't been expecting it.

"Never mind," Ric said, but he looked so pale that he could pass for sick.

This, Joey realized, wasn't going to get him anywhere. He would have had better luck with the pen, or the fucking fridge door, except the fridge had clearly voided that option. Joey wasn't sure about locks. Walls and solid shit, no problem, but he didn't know what it would take to really get inside something and manipulate it. He shivered.

The rest of the ride was quiet, and he knew where they were going. He knew he should probably stay in the car, but as the car bounced up the gravel lane in slow procession, he thought of leaving Billy again made him dizzy. He spared another moment of dismay and irritation for how he could feel things, fought the impulse to kick just as Ric had done and failed. The sound scared him, a hollow thump where his toe struck the corner of the fridge. _Oh my fucking God_. Ric sat forward, blinking rapidly.

"Billy—"

"If you say another fucking _word_ ," Billy ground out, so furious that Joey wanted to rush at him, hold him, for fuck's sake, _stop_ him—

"Okay! Fine, just _fine_. You think I'm fucking crazy anyway, what else is new."

"I don't think you're crazy," Billy said, rubbing his eyes hard. Joey crawled forward as the car slowed to a stop, so close he could reach out and touch him if he wanted.

"Guess we're there," Ric said quietly.

"Yeah," Billy said, and stopped rubbing his eyes.

Joey peered out when the door swung open. Alessandro, no different than he'd ever been.

"I pity you," he said, but the chauffeur just went on staring straight ahead through his glasses. "Yeah, that's right," Joey continued, waiting till Billy was out, then followed him, catching the door head-on as it slammed. Rush of air through him, almost pleasant.

Whatever else he had been about to say, he forgot it.

Joey hadn't been to many funerals, and he didn't like to count his mother's. He couldn't bring himself to follow the three of them away from the car, not just yet. He knew what was up the lane to where everybody was crowding; he was afraid of going near on more than one count. It occurred to him that he could probably deal better with…his own…than with…

"You're really pathetic," he told himself, and started through the graves and up the hill.

The crowd was only half what had been at the church, or at least that was what it seemed to the best of Joey's reckoning. He hung back at the shrine, painted white wood with its small roof and china-cabinet door. The inside was lined with red velvet, tiered, and there were picture frames, photographs, dead flowers, relics. Every family he knew had one of these, and as a child when they'd come to put flowers out for his grandfather, he'd been fascinated. He'd asked once if they could open it, but his father said no.

They'd opened it once for his mother.

The flowerbed that surrounded the thing had run to weeds, so he sat down on the edge and listened. The priest was there, up by the stone, saying something. Through the crowd, gaps of green and gray between masses of black, he could see the coffin in place. He could see where Billy and Ric had stopped, backs turned to him. He could see Alessandro keeping watch, at the fringe, facing him.

"Sorry you ever had to do this," Joey said, and bowed his head. They had begun a prayer.

He'd never really been much for praying, but suddenly, he was sorry for everything, and he'd pray for them as they prayed for him, each word from his lips like letting go.

When it was over, he saw his father step up beside the trench and open his hand. Earth, he'd forgotten that. He'd gotten to do it after his father did it for his mother.

_After his father did it for his mother._

And he was there, he was _there_ , beside his father, reaching for him, speaking to him. Praying for him, begging him, what good it would do was _none_ , and still—

"Please," his father said in a strained voice, looking up and across, and Joey followed his eyes, letting go of his arm in shock. For the second time, Billy's was looking at him, but not quite, hands folded in front of him as if he didn't know what to do with them.

Billy just nodded, eyes on the ground, and walked over to where the dirt was.

Enough, _enough_. Joey turned and walked away, walked until he found his mother's stone, sank down in front of it, shaking breaths in and out until he heard the silence lift and break, until the crowd lived and breathed again at his asking.

"I can't tell you how sorry," Joey whispered, and bent to kiss the ground. Shakily, he stood and didn't look back. What faced him no matter where he turned was bad enough.

Billy was standing a little way off from his stone, watching, tears rolling down his cheeks like he didn't care who was watching, and Joey didn't have to think twice to know that he just _didn't_. It would have been the same for him if…

 _No_ , Joey told himself firmly. _That's even worse._

His father was there, too, not too far from Billy.

It was the strangest thing in the world, over and over again, and it wasn't going to stop, so Joey did the only thing that he could, stood and watched as his father moved closer to Billy, said something he couldn't quite make out, and hugged Billy like he'd only ever hugged his brother or Taddeo or possibly Joey, or not, because his father had always hugged him as if he might break, and never so often, and, oh, he was _watching_.

And moving closer; he couldn't have helped it even if he'd wanted to.

"If you ever need anything," his father said under his breath, almost inaudible—

"Yeah, um," Billy said, stifled over Albert's other shoulder. "Thanks."

Joey stood beside his father and watched Billy walk off to rejoin Ric, then turned his head. His father wouldn't look at him; that was one thing that wasn't going to change.

"From both of us, and don't you forget it," Joey said, and hoped it was enough.

He walked away, then, and didn't look back. One day, perhaps, but never again for now.

Billy and Ric were standing across from Dean, a perfect crossroads in his path.

 

* * *

 

"He mentioned you," Dean said quietly, glancing sidelong as if to make sure that Ric and Eric were still too busy talking about evil-ass professors to notice.

"Did he?" Billy asked, feeling so hollow that everything he heard rang through him like an echo. He felt his lips moving, shaping words. "When?"

"Summer," Dean said, glancing down at the grass. "I think it was sometime…late May, early June?"

"Sounds right," Billy said. "You saw him?"

"Yeah, one night before he was leaving to go someplace with you, actually."

 _Duh, of course_. "Oh, yeah. He mentioned that. Coffee house?"

Dean looked up for a second, then back down again, red hair stirring against his forehead with the breeze that had picked up and scattered everything. "Michelle's," he said. "We used to go there a lot. Anyway, he…he said…"

Billy tensed. He hadn't been expecting this. Maybe on some level, maybe from somebody like Cecilia or Dominic, but not—

For some reason, it made a lot more sense than Billy wanted it to, and it angered him.

"What, that I was with him?" Billy said, vaguely aware that someone might hear, but not concerned enough to care if someone did. "Well, it's true."

Dean nodded at the grass, then looked up, relieved, as if somebody had done the job for him, and Billy realized that it was exactly what he had done, and felt stupid for snapping.

"I was glad," Dean said, and there were tears in his eyes as he spoke. "I can't tell you how glad. He was never—" Dean's voice dropped to almost nothing, and his eyes widened, almost fearful as he glanced in an arc, through Billy, around them "—happy, not a single fucking _day_ of his life did he ever smile the way he smiled when he talked—"

"Stop," Billy said, and turned away. "Oh, God, _stop_."

"I didn't mean…"

"I know," Billy said, covering his eyes with one hand, flinching as Dean's hand fell on his shoulder. "I'm…look, all right, just give…I'm…glad, too…you know, that he had…"

"We should've played for you," Dean said, soft and angry. "It's not fair, man."

"No," Billy said, and when he moved his hand, for a split second, his breath caught in his throat and he wanted to shout for fear, joy, something, anything, because _there_ —

Was Taddeo, standing behind him with a withered old woman Billy didn't recognize.

"I, um," said Joey's cousin, fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides, "just thought… Okay, look, I'm no good at this, but I'm really sorry. I mean it."

Billy wiped his nose on the back of his hand, nodding.

The old woman gave Taddeo a somewhat disapproving look and slapped his arm with the back of her hand, saying something in Italian too rapid and unlike Latin for Billy to understand it, except that she was probably scolding him, because he gave Billy one last, baleful look before walking off in the general direction of the graves.

"Now, you are the Tepper boy," she said, looking Billy up and down.

"Uh, yes," Billy said. He wasn't even sure if Dean was still behind him or not.

The old woman nodded, but whether it was approval or simple recognition, Billy had no fucking clue, and he could only assume this was some random relative who'd heard about Joey's best friend at Regis and also wanted to offer whatever awkward condolences she could manage. Except there wasn't anything awkward about her; she stood with purpose.

" _Caro_ , you are too hard on yourself," she said with unexpected gentleness, reaching for his hand. "You must listen to me now, _si_?"

Billy lifted his head, nodding. Her eyes were black and hard, but something about her was soft all the same, reassuring. Something familiar, as if he'd seen… _oh_. Yeah, that hardness about the eyes, that gentle fierceness, she must have given it to her son.

"I am wanting you to know that we are very, very sorry," said Nonna carefully—that was what Joey had called her, he thought he remembered—"and if you are needing something, see here, I write down—" she pressed something dry and smooth into his hand, nodding decisively "—my numbers, _capisce_?"

Billy tucked the slip into his pocket, so shocked that none of it really registered.

"I, um…yes. Yes, Mrs. Trotta. I understand," he said, finding his feet again.

Nonna nodded at him, almost smiling. "Yes, you are a good boy, they all say. Now, where is your friend, he is getting lost over here, see…" She took his hand again.

Ric looked more than a little surprised to see Joey's grandmother leading Billy around like he was five years old, but the tiredness underneath that seemed to say that, no, dude, there was nothing new under the sun, and how the fuck were they getting out of there, and where the fuck had Parker gotten off to? Billy thought he had spotted him coming out of the church, but it was all a blur, and if when he tried looking around the cemetery, everything ran together just like the stained glass windows, only with less color.

"Hey, Billy," said a younger woman softly, almost shyly, and there she was, and Gina.

"Hey," Gina said, then stuck her fingers back in her mouth, too young to look that sober.

"Oh, hey," Billy echoed, turning away from Ric and Nonna to take her hand. She pulled him into half an embrace with more strength than such a slender girl ought to have. She looked different, somehow, more fragile than he remembered her, but she was…oh, wow. Pregnant. Billy wondered how the family could possibly be handling all of this at once.

"Been a long time," Cecilia said, letting go of him again. "Hasn't it?"

"Almost a year, I guess," Billy said, and finally stuck out his finger to Gina. She took hold of it and smiled around her thumb, swinging her arm happily.

"God, she wanted to get at you the whole time," Cecilia said, shaking her head, eyes half closed as if she was ashamed to smile. "Sorry about the screaming, I had to get her fuckin' _outta_ there, you know—"

Billy followed her still, contrite blue gaze to Nonna's hard, dark one, then stared at the ground. Yeah, that was definitely awkward. Probably happened a lot, too.

"Anyway, yeah," Cecilia said, ignoring Nonna's muttering, which wasn't in English anyway. "I'm real sorry it had to be like this," she said softly. "No way to say goodbye, is it?"

"I might see you," Billy said before he could stop himself. "Who knows."

Cecilia smiled, gentle and serious all at once, and he wondered if it was just an Italian…thing. She looked young and ancient all at once, nowhere in between.

"You take care of yourself," she said sternly, tearing up unexpectedly. "Gina's way too young for you, or else I'm sure she'd do it for him." She actually laughed, a quick choke.

Billy thanked her, _tried_ to thank her, but his voice was gone again, and somewhere along the line Parker had found him and Ric, and was standing there waiting patiently, hands clasped in front of him. Through his own tears—they'd never stop, he was just going to have to live with that—he wondered how the shoulder injury was.

"Ready to go soon?" Parker asked, sounding like it was the last thing on earth he wanted to say. Ric was hanging close to him, wide-eyed and jumpy again.

Offering Cecilia as much of a smile as he could, Billy let go of Gina's finger.

"Yeah," he said, and turned, but not without looking back.

He had nothing left to lose, after all. Gina was still reaching, small fingers curled on air.

 

* * *

 

Joey stayed at the cemetery till sunset, thinking. He realized that he had nothing better to do, and in some strange way, he felt obliged to wait until everybody was gone. He had expected to be somewhat bothered once he was alone, but even after his father and Nonna left, leaving the red and white candles lit, there were others walking amongst the graves.

All living, as far as Joey knew, and he preferred it that way.

He had wanted to follow Billy and Ric worse than anything, but Billy hadn't reacted to him in the slightest, and Ric was just freaked the fuck out. It wouldn't do any good to try again so soon. Still, he wasn't about to give up. Billy hadn't; Joey owed him that much.

Joey waited until he was sure nobody was watching, then started pulling weeds out of the shrine's flowerbed. Dandelions, wood sorrel, even a vicious spiny thing or two. He'd never known the proper name for those, hurt like hell to step on in summer.

When dusk fell, he decided that maybe he had better things to do after all.

Returning to Regis was easy; he could find his way back to the dorm room with a thought. The notebook lay where it had fallen, pages in a terrible, bent sprawl. He picked it up and smoothed them out, then closed the book and slid it back under the bed. Joey wondered if he ought to think about remembering other places. Things would get weird once they let all the students back in. He didn't doubt Regis would re-open.

Joey sat down on the edge of the mattress and ran his fingers over the tie-dye bedspread. He was sure he could get to his own room, bar actually walking the halls and staircases. He thought about the night of the prank, how they returned breathless with the exertion of climbing through air vents and moving all that fucking furniture. It had been worth…

_"So, you still wanna dream about Jennifer?" Billy asks, peeling out of his homemade wife-beater and dropping it carelessly on the floor. He folds his arms across his chest, smirking. His skin is glazed with the faintest sheen of sweat, tempting._

_"Don't know," Joey says, collapsing at the desk, raising one foot to attack his shoelaces. "Depends on whether or not you can make me a better offer." He lets the shoe fall, then moves to the other. He's proud of the new scuff-marks; he knows them all by heart._

_"Depends on whether or not you're willing to take a two-for-one," Billy says, moving up behind him, leaning close enough that his breath caresses Joey's cheek. "I still owe you for writing that paper."_

_"It's still not finished," Joey says, dropping the other shoe and staring at the open notebook in front of him. "Due first period, man. I'm not getting up at six, either. Happy fucking anniversary."_

_"I didn't plan on asking you to," Billy says, pressing a kiss to his nape. "And it's not Saturday yet."_

_Joey shivers, instinctively reaching back. Billy catches his hands and crosses his arms in front of him, hugging him back against the chair as he buries his face in Joey's hair, breathing deeply. It's enough to make Joey want to kick back from the desk and pin Billy to the floor, but that would result in a broken chair and a lot of bruises._

_"This offer expires in ten seconds," Billy whispers, teasing Joey's ear with his teeth. "Non-negotiable."_

_"Douchebag," Joey says quietly, squeezing Billy's fingers. "Yes."_

_"My bunk or yours?"_

_"Romantic fucker."_

_"Pot calling the kettle black."_

_"How about Phil's bed?" Joey smirks at the wall, hoping for shock effect._

_"Mmm," Billy says, and sticks his tongue in Joey's ear, which is cheating._

_"Yours," Joey croaks, and before he knows it, he's being lifted, hauled, and dropped._

_"Oof!"_

_"Thought I'd give you a break from all the hard labor, if that's all right."_

_Billy crawls over him, slinking and possessive. He tastes like the Pez Joey slipped him after soccer practice, a promise instead of a kiss in front of their lockers. He remembers the black eye and laughs into Billy's mouth, and Billy stops, giving him that what-crack-are-you-on frown before bending to nuzzle Joey's neck. He sets a hand on Joey's stomach, reverent. He's nibbling Joey's earlobe now, sighing warm Pez-breath._

_"Sweet," Joey whispers, closing his eyes._

When he opened them, he was lying flat on his back, staring up at the bottom of his own bunk. Joey sat up and stared around him, shaken. He had expected it to work, sure, but not nearly so well. Billy's bed was still unmade, but he knew others had slept in it since.

Without thinking, Joey got up and checked to see if anything was missing. Somebody had taken the folded pile of sheets that Phil had pulled off his bed before leaving and made the bed up again. That made sense. Otherwise, all his shit seemed to be there, and so was all of Billy's. The unfinished paper was still on Joey's desk. He stepped up and squinted down at it, trying to figure out where he'd left off. Oh. There.

Joey sat down, reading and frowning. He wasn't happy with what he saw; he mustn't have been paying attention while he was writing it, or maybe paying too much attention, trying to match Billy's roundabout, eventually-logical style of argument. It was harder work than writing in his own voice, that was for damned sure. He picked up the pen and tapped his cheek it against his cheek, realizing half a dozen things he needed to change.

It wasn't until two hours and four new pages later that he realized what he'd done, and quietly started to panic. He dropped the pen on the desk, rubbing his cheek.

Writing notes was one thing, but finishing the fucking paper, that was just sadistic.

Joey got up and walked over to the window, arms folded tightly across his chest. The quad was dark and quiet, some sections cordoned off with yellow tape, and the bell had begun to toll. Joey stood still, counting the chimes. One, two, three, four, five…

On the tenth, he was startled to hear what sounded like the creak of the gate, the clang of it closing. Weren't they keeping it locked during the day? Who was taking care of it?

He supposed a walk couldn't hurt. He felt safer alone at Regis, in any case.

Walking the halls was strange, haunting. He caught himself glancing nervously over his shoulder and told himself that if anybody else was here _he'd_ be the problem, but the thought upset him as much as the paper, so he ignored it. He slipped through the back fire exit and into the night. It was darker, much chillier than it had been in New Jersey.

He was startled at the sensation of damp grass between his toes. His shoes were gone.

"Okay, this is fucking ridiculous," he said, and sat down, bringing one foot up to examine it. Same calloused heels, same peeled-away pinkie nails. Same scar where he'd had had a Planter's wart burned out at the doctor's office when he was eleven. Fucking creepy.

Joey was pretty sure he understood, though. Even a moron could catch on. He thought about putting his shoes and socks back on in the morning, every last motion.

He kicked at the grass with his toe, smudging some of the marker on the white rubber.

"Jesus," he muttered, standing up again. The gate wasn't far.

It was closed, just as Joey had expected it would be. He was probably imagining things, desperate for the old routine. Well, that wasn't coming back, he reminded himself. Had to keep from fucking panicking, keep on adjusting. He walked along the brick wall till he came to the iron bars, then slid through them. The phone booth was empty.

The guard booth, however, wasn't.

Joey froze, and before he could think to run, the person inside spotted him.

"You!" shouted Frank Ingram, opening the door and marching up to him. "What are you doing outside at this hour?"

Joey backed up a step, swallowing hard. "I— _Frank_?"

"That's Mr. Ingram to you, young man," Frank said disapprovingly, frowning. "Didn't you hear the bell?"

"Yeah," Joey said, wishing he had something to hold onto. "I heard it all right."

"Ten o'clock, lights out. What part of that don't you understand, son?"

 _The part where you're as dead as I am and have no fucking clue_ , Joey wanted to say, but bit his tongue. "Uh, none of it," he said. "It's just, shouldn't…um…haven't you…"

Frank folded his arms across his chest, looking distinctly unimpressed.

"Haven't you noticed anything strange around here lately?" Joey asked, realizing he had absolutely nothing to lose in this situation, or any situation, for that matter. It was strangely freeing. "I mean, these past few days, haven't you been—"

"Unless you count a bunch of soccer-playing wise-guys," Frank said with distaste, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "there's nothing of the sort."

"Where the hell have _you_ been?" Joey muttered under his breath. How the fuck did shit like this happen, and what made Frank any different from the way he was?

"Right here," Frank said, sounding affronted. "Now, if you'll just come with me, we're going to go and see the dean," he added sternly, then turned on his heel and started to walk. "I'm sure he'll be easy on you, son, first offense and all…"

Joey ran in the opposite direction as fast as he possibly could, across the road and into the trees. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. That was the scariest fucking thing he could think of, and he wondered if it was only a matter of time before he lost everything that made him sane, not just some aimlessly wandering—

"Ghost," he spat at the nearest tree, pulsing with anger. "Fucking _say_ it."

He kicked the trunk a few times, which didn't do much good, although a bunch of bark came loose and fell down, rustling softly in the grass. Joey stared down at it, disbelieving, remembering the fridge. How the fuck could he _do_ that?

Furthermore, if he did it with his shoe off, would it hurt? Did his shoe count as a shoe?

Irritated, Joey imagined stepping out of his shoe, skipping the unlacing part. He watched it melt away and shivered, hugging himself again. Okay, buddy, real deal. He steeled himself and kicked the tree as hard as he could, and the pain was, oddly, unbelievable.

He hissed and stumbled back, on the brink of tears. That wasn't the smartest thing he'd ever done, making himself remember pain. He understood now; it was all memory and fucking fucked-up metaphysics or whatever the fuck they were always trying to prove but never could. Why hadn't some brilliant dead fuck written it down by now, anyway?

It was a long time before Joey was collected enough to call his shoe back and get up off the grass. The dew seemed to cling to him for a few seconds, then dissipate.

"Okay," he said quietly. " _Okay_.

If he could move and kick shit, then he could fucking _touch_ shit, and there wasn't anybody or anything, alive or inanimate or dead, gonna stop him from proving it.

But first, he had a song to finish, and maybe some sleeping to do.

 

* * *

 

"Hey, bright eyes," Snuffy said, dropping something on Billy's head. "News."

"Hmuh?" Billy asked, swatting the offending piece of clothing away. "What time's it?"

"Noon," Snuffy said. "Parker told me not to let you sleep all day."

"Gee, thanks," Billy muttered, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He remembered peeling out of his dress clothes and crawling into bed, and that was about it. "You said news?"

"They're letting us back in on Friday."

Billy frowned. "What's today?"

"Wednesday," Snuffy said, arguing with a mini-box of Froot Loops. He waved at the multi-pack open on the table, and several other boxes were missing. "Want some?"

"No," Billy said vaguely, glancing around the room. "Where's…"

"Out someplace, dunno," Snuffy said, popping some dry cereal into his mouth.

Billy's stomach felt empty and unsettled, and the crunching wasn't doing him any good. He grimaced and swung his legs over the side of the bed, stretching to test his back. Still sore as fuck, but it wasn't bleeding all over shit anymore, and that was what mattered.

"Also, Phil's coming back."

Billy blinked. He couldn't have heard right.

"After all that?"

"Yeah," Snuffy said, emptying the rest of the cereal into a paper bowl. "Just like my dad and Hank's, right? All the government big-shots are putting on the stiff upper lip, carry on and all that bullshit. The only guys who got pulled were middle class or foreign."

Billy thought about crossing the room to smack him, then decided it wasn't worth it.

"Who's gone?" he asked. The curiosity was too much, and fuck, it was a distraction.

"Greenwalt, Carver, Nugent," Snuffy said, frowning a little on the third. "Shadri. McAllister."

"No fucking _way_ ," Billy said, leaning forward.

Snuffy grinned at him shamelessly, then went to work on a small carton of milk.

"Goodbye to the glory days, I guess," Billy said, finally getting up. "Who brought that shit?"

"What the fuck am I, your Magic 8-Ball? It was Parker, who'd you think?"

"He shouldn't be doing all this shit," Billy said, rummaging in his backpack for clean boxers. "Did you know he wasn't just shot? Got his forearms all cut up on that fucking window."

"No shit," Snuffy muttered, mouth full.

"Yeah," Billy said, staring at the floor. "I don't know how the fuck he got off with just his fucking armpit grazed, you should've seen how close…"

"How about let's not talk about this," Snuffy said, setting his spoon down. "You got a deck of cards?"

"No, asshole," Billy said, and hauled his whole backpack into the bathroom.

Showers, he was beginning to realize, were good for more than inducing pain or locking out nosy fucks. They were good for thinking, for trying to make sense of stuff like the fact that nobody would leave him alone for two seconds, not even to grieve.

He knew why, of course, and it rankled.

Billy wasn't stupid enough to kill himself. What was the point? He'd heard plenty about how messy botched attempts could be, even remembered the rumor of one from his first boarding school. Depressed, over-loaded senior downed a bottle of sleeping pills with half a bottle of vodka, then drunk-dialed his cousin at another school. They'd saved him.

Billy told the shampoo bottle in no uncertain terms that he didn't want to be saved.

It wasn't that he would fail, because you can only hear so much about how fucking stupid people are before you realize the shit they did wrong and what you'd do differently if you ever tried it. But the thing was, it was way too hard to off yourself these days. There were too many people watching, waiting, ready to thwart. Ergo, pointless.

He wondered why Cali couldn't have just made it easy on him, ignored that split second of doubt echoing in _I'm sorry, I'm sorry!_ and the fucking SWAT guys coming through the door and just yanked the fucking wires. All his hard work gone to waste, sure, but he was sure he would have been happier on the other side.

Billy choked into the steam, clearing tears and soap bubbles out of his eyes. He was sure he didn't believe in God, but he sure as fuck believed in Joey.

Snuffy was still picking at his cereal when Billy came out, which meant he'd probably heard Billy crying, which meant Billy didn't want to talk to him for the rest of the day. There was nothing good on TV, and Ric and Hank were AWOL, so Billy finished drying his hair and dropped the white towel on the carpet. His back throbbed.

"Don't wake me up," he said, and crawled under the covers, ignoring Snuffy's strangled protest. "Easier to baby-sit, don't you think?" he said into the pillow, closing his eyes.

"Fuck you," Snuffy said, and Billy drifted off to the sound of crunching.

_Billy is sitting on the bottom bunk, trying to catch his breath. His back is on fire, oozing blood, and he thinks that if he'd actually eaten anything for breakfast, he'd be throwing it up now. The towel has fallen loose, but he doesn't care, blinded by pain._

_He doesn't hear the footfalls until they're on top of him, a desperate, flying dash that arrives in a blur of drawn-on denim and bright blue tie-dye._

_"What the fuck," Joey whispers, and sinks to his knees._

_Billy wants to look up, but if he does, he'll be sick for sure. When Joey reaches for him, he catches Joey's hand, holding it at arm's length, swallowing hard._

_"Don't. I'm a mess."_

_Joey's breathing is harsh, angry, frightened—all that Billy dreads in him, has tried to protect him from. The injustice cuts deep, twisted like a knife in his side._

_"Billy…"_

_It's too late, Joey has reached around with his other hand and set his fingertips against one livid cut. Billy jerks forward, hissing in pain, almost falling off the bed, but Joey has a hold on him now, hands firm on his upper arms. He looks up, because there's no hiding._

_"What the fuck," Joey repeats, each word hard as steel, "did he do?"_

_Billy gives a short laugh, wiping his nose on the back of his hand._

_"You know those metal pointer things?"_

_Joey's eyes go wide, but only for a second. They narrow, predatory and furious._

_"I'll kill them," Joey whispers, voice unsteady, one hand flying up to cradle the back of Billy's head. "I'll fucking kill—"_

_"Joey," Billy whispers, but it's no good, the damage is done to both of them._

_"Gotta get you cleaned up," Joey says, collecting himself, and kisses Billy on the mouth._

_"Who let you come?" Billy asks, watching him rummage for clothes._

_Joey turns from the wardrobe, shirt slung over one arm, his expression cool and defiant._

_"Nobody."_

Billy woke to the sound of thunder louder than any in recent memory. Rain rattled the windowpanes, and next to him, somebody shivered and shifted closer in a confused cocoon of bedclothes. He could hear breathing in the next bed over. Everybody back.

On the nightstand, the clock blinked 4:32 AM. He'd slept through till the next morning.

The covers shivered and curled in tighter against the small of his back, whimpering.

"Shut up, Snuff," he whispered, easing himself back down, tugging his half of the covers up to his chin. He gave the lump a good sharp elbowing, but it wouldn't budge.

"Fine," he muttered, turning away from Snuffy as best he could.

He'd stay in bed all fucking day if he had to, no matter what Parker said. Bad dreams were better than none at all, especially if they meant seeing Joey.

 

* * *

 

Joey woke up once, jostled in the ribs by something that he couldn't find in Derek's bedclothes when he went rustling through them after full dawn had come.

He felt sore as he stretched, then told himself that was nonsense, and it went away. He'd stripped down to his boxers, shoes and socks gone, but he'd left on his t-shirt and hooded sweatshirt for fear of…what, exactly, he wasn't sure. Except around Billy, he'd never liked being even half naked. It had always made him feel too thin, vulnerable.

The notebook was on the floor where he'd set it the night before, finally too tired to take a crack at the last stanza. He'd stayed in the room the entire day previous, writing and sleeping and testing things. He could still smell things. Feel heat and cold. Laugh.

And sleep, thank fucking God for that: dreamless, weightless, painless.

There'd been a lot of noise in the halls and in the courtyard, though he'd mostly shut it out. If somebody came into the room, they wouldn't be able to see him anyway. He was determined to keep the notebook exactly where it had been left. He couldn't take chances. If he moved it, there would be questions and accusations like no tomorrow.

He was risking Billy's sanity as it was, but he was too selfish to consider letting go.

Joey paced around the room, then drifted over to the window. The yellow tape was disappearing in stages, and there were ladders, probably repairmen for the shattered windows. If they were going to enter the rooms, he was sure they would have by now.

He was sure that everybody was returning soon, and he'd have to be ready for that. If it was Thursday, he probably had until Monday. It felt like Thursday, anyway, and when he checked with Ted's desk calendar, it was so. Three more days, fucking fatalistic.

In the meantime, Joey was disgusted to learn that writer's block still applied. He remembered his clothes and went for the door. Might as well take advantage.

Frank was exactly where he'd been two evenings before, only he was reading a newspaper and humming. Joey had to tap on the glass to get his attention.

"Can I help you?" Frank said, then frowned deeply. "You again. I'm not very pleased about the other night, I think you should be aware," he said matter-of-factly. "Don't think I haven't reported it to the headmaster. I've got my eye on you."

"I'm sure," Joey said loudly, rapping on the glass again. "Would you open this?"

Frank looked irritated and relieved all at the same time. He set down the newspaper and opened the door, scrutinizing Joey from head to foot. "I hope it's important," he said.

"Yeah," Joey said carefully. "Doesn't get more important than this."

"Well?"

"Look," he said. "Do you see those workmen?"

Frank stepped out of the booth, walked past Joey and up to the gate, then turned around, shrugging. "Yes, as a matter of fact," he said. "I don't see what's odd about that."

"You probably haven't seen any students," Joey prompted.

"That's not true," Frank said, almost laughing. "I've seen _way_ too much of you."

"I mean other people," Joey said, exasperated. "Don't you think that's weird?"

"I'd say Dean Parker is finally doing his job right," Frank said, adjusting his hat, and for the first time, Joey noticed a slim wedding band on his finger. "Those soccer jerks haven't given me any more trouble after—"

Joey took a deep, impatient breath.

"I was one of them, sir."

Frank frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"The sign," Joey said. "I helped do that."

Frank frowned at the back of the sign, then gave Joey a suspicious look.

"Are you sure? Not just yanking my chain?"

"Mr. Ingram," Joey said, "I really wish I was." He plunged on, unable to think of anything else, "Hasn't your wife been worried?"

"Heavens, no," Frank said, waving his hand dismissively. "She's used to the hours by now."

"I don't think…" Joey frowned at his feet, then at Frank's left hand. "Don’t you think you've been a bit overworked lately?"

Frank scratched his nose, and his lips twitched as if he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. "I don't think that's a very appropriate question," he said.

"You look tired, that's all," Joey said earnestly. "Just because we fuck around doesn't mean we don't care, okay?"

Frank was shocked, but Joey could tell it wasn't because of his language. His face softened as he said, "Well, that's kind of _you_. I guess the others are bad influences."

Joey flinched.

"Not exactly. I just, you know, wondered—"

Frank yawned hugely. "Now that you mention it, I've been a bit on the beat side, you know? Nothing coffee wouldn't fix, but I swear, those guys are deaf as doornails."

"Then why don't you take a little time off," Joey said carefully, "and do what _you'd_ really like to do. Not…you know, what you're supposed to do."

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea," Frank said, his voice tightening. His hands clenched at his sides, trembling slightly. "There's nobody to mind the gate."

"I could watch it while you're gone," Joey offered. "Just for a little while."

Frank considered this, nodding slowly at the ground, as if the idea just might work.

"What I'd really _like_ to do," he said slowly, "is go home."

"Then go," Joey said, something clenching in him. "I won't tell anybody."

"Thanks," Frank said, smiling widely, touching the brim of his hat. "Just you sit tight, and I'll be back in no time," he said, and suddenly was gone.

"Probably not," Joey said, and stepped back through the gate, feeling distinctly alone.

 

* * *

 

Billy opened his eyes when the light grew too bright to keep them closed. The television was running, and he could see Ric sprawled out on his belly on the other bed, flipping channels. Hank was at the table reading a newspaper. Another day in the life.

He sat up, stretched, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Rising, he set down one foot—only to come in contact with something that was soft, warm, and un-floor-like.

" _Ow_!"

Billy tripped back onto the mattress. "Fuck! What the—"

Snuffy sat up, almost hitting his head off the nightstand, glaring.

"Break my fucking arm!"

Billy stared at him, then said, "Why'd you move? Do I kick or something?"

"That's funny, Billy," Snuffy said, rubbing his wrist vigorously. "You were sprawled out all over the whole mattress, no way was I gonna move your ass."

Then _who_ —

"If you want to switch beds, just fucking say so, okay?" Billy said to Ric and Hank, who completely ignored him. "Thanks, whatever. Dibs on the bathroom."

If they thought pranks were going to fix shit, they were barking up the wrong tree. Billy turned on the sink and let the water run until it was scalding, then turned on the cold water just enough to dull it. He splashed his face, slapping his cheeks. _Wake the fuck up, you pathetic loser_. They were going back; _Phil_ was coming back.

The thought filled him with enough dread to make him want to skip breakfast.

When Billy came out of the bathroom, he discovered that Snuffy had crawled up on the bed and was still nursing his wrist. Ric had finally settled on a talk show, and Hank didn't even look interested. If there was anything other than cereal, he didn't want to know. What he wanted, _really_ wanted, was some goddamned fresh air.

"Hey," Billy said casually, pulling on a pair of jeans. "I think I'm gonna go for a walk."

All three heads turned in his direction, television forgotten.

"I don't think we're supposed to leave here," Ric said, sounding uncertain.

Billy rolled his eyes. "Like that makes a difference."

"I don't know about you, but I'm not hot on getting in trouble, all right?" Hank said, hands up. "If you wanna risk your ass, fine," he said, giving Snuffy a hard look.

Snuffy turned his head, but what expression he gave Hank, Billy couldn't see.

"I'm out of smokes," Snuffy said abruptly. "I think I'll go with you."

"You don't have to," Billy said, stomach clenching even tighter as he pulled on his shirt.

"You’d be surprised," Snuffy said acidly, getting up off the bed to rummage in his own stuff. "I hope Parker's not outside or anything like that."

"Are we seriously not allowed out of here?" Billy asked in disbelief, shoving his feet into his sneakers. "What do they think we're gonna do, run away?"

"Some of the younger guys, maybe," Snuffy said honestly, patting his pockets. "Where the fuck is my wallet?"

"Top of the television," Hank muttered.

Snuffy gave him a withering look. "Thanks."

Outside, it was soaked, but not raining anymore. The pavement was black underfoot, and the trees dripped, sluggish in the muggy air. Maybe Indian summer would set in this year. Billy put his hands in his pockets, casually cutting across the parking lot. Snuffy jogged to keep up, muttering under his breath, "Hey, wait."

Billy paused when he reached the curb, glancing back. "You coming?"

"Yes," Snuffy said, glaring. "Now, where the hell are we going?"

"Anywhere but here," Billy said. "It's not like you can't walk anywhere in this town in five to ten minutes. I thought you wanted cigarettes."

"I fucking lied, all right?" Snuffy said, pulling something out of his back pocket as they crossed the street. "I've still got these."

Billy vaguely recognized the black box from summer, different from the white pack Snuffy usually carried. Sweet smoke, slender black roll between Joey's fingers.

"Cloves, huh?" His throat felt tight.

"Yeah," Snuffy said, one of the cigarettes already dangling from his lip as he fumbled with the lighter. "Want one?"

"No thanks," Billy said, and concentrated on watching the road ahead of them.

The trees were shifting from pale greens and yellows to light, fiery red, and soon, they'd all be scarlet and gold. He bent down and scooped up a leaf, spreading it flat against his palm, stem to finger, veins to lifelines. He wondered if the trees felt pain in loss.

"Funny you should do that," Snuffy said, so quiet Billy almost missed it.

"Why?" he asked, taking the leaf in both hands again, ripping it down the middle. Perfect symmetry. He'd always enjoyed that, for some reason. He split the veins, too, feathering it. The sad, ragged thing fluttered gracelessly to the ground when he let go.

"Joey pressed a bunch in his textbooks his first year here," Snuffy said, and Billy realized it was the first time any of them had dared say Joey's name. "They kept falling out during all our classes, landing on the floor. I think he wanted to kill half the people who made fun of him."

Billy put his hands back in his pockets, fisting them in the lining. "Did you?"

"No, as a matter of fact," Snuffy said. "I used to do the same thing when I was little."

"He wasn't little." Billy had to force each word.

"That was how I met him," Snuffy said, taking a long drag on the clove and staring at the row of houses that had loomed up to their right. "Late September, sophomore year. He'd come in new at the start of that semester. We heard all kinds of shit rumors, didn't know which were true. Heard he punched out a teacher, attacked some other kid with a knife…"

"Why are you telling me this?" Billy asked, staring hard at the ground, driving each step in like a punch. God, he wanted to hit Snuffy. _Badly_.

"Because I think you should know," Snuffy said, flicking the half-smoked cigarette into the grass. "Did Joey ever tell you that story? Did he ever tell you about how Hank pounded him during gym class, and that they were friends from that day on? Huh?"

Billy squeezed his eyes shut, not caring if he tripped. He couldn't fucking take it.

"I'm going to tell you, Billy," Snuffy continued, tears edging into his voice. "I'm going to tell you fucking _everything_ I can remember, okay? Because that's all I can think about. It's fucking miserable. All I can think about is how he smiled at me when I picked up that leaf and handed it back to him, and it was already thin and dry as paper, like it had been there a couple weeks and I'd never fucking noticed before how he fucking _cared_ about the stupidest little shit in the world. All I can think about is how he smiled at me first, smiled at me just once in a while, but he smiled at you and _never fucking stopped_. You don't know what that feels like. In fact, you're _lucky_ you don't—"

"Fuck you," Billy said, opening his eyes just enough to make sure he'd run into Snuffy if he veered sideways like _so_ , and then took off running, ignoring Snuffy's shouts.

"You wish! Fucking asshole!"

Billy picked up his pace, turning the next corner he came to. He knew the residential areas like the backs of his hands; he'd made sure within three weeks of coming to Regis that he learned his way pretty much anywhere he needed to go. Snuffy was about a street behind him, judging by his screams—"Billy! Billy, _wait_!"—and he'd keep it that way until it was too late, until he got where he was going, until he collapsed and could go no further.

"Billy, we can't—" Panting, horrible and grating. Somehow, Snuffy was catching up.

"Fucking _watch_ me," Billy said, and took the left turn, hissing through his teeth.

There was the cornfield, swaying, wet with dew. The road under his feet had become plainer, unlined, beset with tiny gravel. Back and back and back again. Back to—

"Billy, I'm— _shit_ , we're gonna—"

"Deal with it," he said, slowing to a stop, bending low over his knees to catch his breath.

Snuffy jugged up behind him, his gasping so ragged that Billy was instantly sorry.

"Look, I didn't mean…" Words died on his tongue as he straightened up, looking ahead. "Car…truck…thing," he panted, grabbing Snuffy's elbow and pulling him off the road.

"Maintenance," Snuffy wheezed, clutching at his chest, eyes closed. "Or something."

Billy held him still, watching until Snuffy's features relaxed and he managed a few deep, raspy breath. He opened his eyes, revealing redness to match the tearstains on his cheeks.

"Shouldn't have said that shit," he whispered. "Shouldn't have…"

Billy let go of him, turning to look at the corn. "Don't do it again. _Ever_."

"I can't promise that, Billy," Snuffy said, his voice returning. "I can't just pretend he was never there."

Billy clenched his teeth. "I'm not _asking_ you to—"

"Yes, you are," Snuffy said quietly. "You're asking all of us to do that. It's not fair."

Billy rubbed his elbows, shivering as the breeze picked up. Wet grass brushed his jeans.

"Ric's so upset he's gonna crack, but have you asked him if he's all right? No."

"He was _there_ ," Billy gritted out. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

"He's scared," Snuffy said. "Do you forget shit so easily?"

 _I'm scared, too_ , Billy wanted to say, but he kept his mouth shut.

"Can't be easy for a guy who sees ghosts," Snuffy said, heels turning on the gravel.

Billy spun around, pointing at him. Enough was fucking _enough_.

"God's dead, Snuff," he said. "Just get the fuck over it. Ric jumps at his own shadow. You think I'm not having enough nightmares to scare every fucking person in that hotel room, _huh_?"

Snuffy looked away. "You talk in your sleep," he said reluctantly.

"I'm sure I do," Billy said, surprised to find the thought didn't mean anything to him.

"And look, I know about God," Snuffy said, catching Billy's eye again. "But you'd better wake the fuck up. Pay attention. You're not the only one who's hurting."

Billy stared at the ground. "I know," he said blankly.

"Then stop acting like you are," Snuffy said, and extended a hand into Billy's field of view. "C'mon. Let's get away from here."

Billy started to reach for it, then let his hand fall at his side, lifting his head. "No," he said, turning the direction the truck had come from. "I want to see."

"Tomorrow," Snuffy said, catching up with him. "Billy."

"You're not gonna change my mind, so you can just forget it," Billy said, crossing the road. They were on the wrong side, and they weren't going to be able to get past the gate, anyway. He cold see it up ahead, the patch of grass and the small cut away where cars had been pulling up for years. The sign, _REJECTS_ gleaming bright in the sun.

Billy didn't stop until his hands were on the bars, until he could see inside, past ladders and workmen and all sorts of things that just shouldn't have been there.

"Replacing the window," Snuffy said at his shoulder, up just as close as Billy was.

"Yeah," Billy said, shading his eyes. Something hit the toe of his shoe, so he looked down. There was nothing but grass and dirt, a piece of gravel rocking where it landed.

"We ought to go," Snuffy said, tugging on his arm. "Before somebody sees."

"Just another second," Billy said, and looked up again.

 

* * *

 

Joey had made it only a few steps when he heard the voices, the footsteps where he'd been only minutes ago. At first he had thought Frank was back, but he had turned—and seen, and _ran_ the few yards back, so frantic he almost tripped.

He didn't dare touch the bars. He didn't _dare_.

"Another second my _ass_ ," Snuffy said, hovering in the road behind Billy, looking more nervous than Joey had ever seen him. "If one of them sees, all he has to do is call Parker, and we're toast."

Billy stared straight ahead, ignoring Snuffy completely. He let go of the bars, though, hands falling aimlessly at his sides. With that, he sighed and looked away.

"Yeah," he said softly, and turned, much to Snuffy's obvious relief.

Frozen, Joey didn't budge until they had gone, until they were two specks at the end of the road. He was so fucking stupid. If he'd just dared _reach_ —

"Tomorrow," Joey told himself. "Don't be so fucking impatient."

He could follow them, of course. Hell, he could do just about anything he fucking wanted, as nearly as he could tell. The prospect was sort of frightening, which, if he thought about it, was why he'd been clinging to every fucking familiar thing he could find. He wondered if that was normal. He wondered if that was why Frank…

He wondered a lot of stuff that was probably best not wondered about.

Joey turned around and walked back up the path, but his steps felt heavy somehow, cheerless. Just a few hours ago, he'd still been excited about his plan. Now, he realized, the next twenty-four hours were going to be the closest thing to hell he could imagine.

The closest thing, anyway, until he realized where he was standing, and from there he turned and the quad spun, wild and dizzying around him, and when he reached the top of the stairs, he was on all fours, crouched and trembling.

 _Memory_ , he thought, squeezing his eyes shut. _It's only a fucking memory_.

Easy enough to force himself to his feet and fling himself through the closed doors, still shaking. He was sure he'd kept away from there for a reason. He might've been in denial, but he sure as hell didn't have gaps as big as Frank. He didn't—

 _Know if he was alone even now_.

"Oh, fucking Christ," Joey whispered, crossing himself.

Hallway, phone booths, staircase, dining hall. He was standing in the next worst place he could possibly be standing, and why the _fuck_ did it have to be like this, why couldn't he just forget? Joey stared at the bulletin board, trying desperately to piece together what was there. Photographs, calendars. Senior Activity Day. Fuck, next week was supposed to be a trip into Cambridge, just like—

Wrapping his arms around himself, Joey closed his eyes.

Anything was better than this, and anything is what he'd have.

When he blinked to clear his head, he was standing on a familiar curb, cobblestones underfoot, and the cuckoo-clock _WALK_ signal began to sound. The girl standing beside him had long, pale hair swept up in a ponytail, and she let out a sigh of relief.

"Excuse me," Joey said with a shaky breath, and crossed the street ahead of her.

As usual, the COOP was busy, which was perfect. Nobody to pay attention to books pulled off the shelves if he kept to isolated corners, nobody to care if he decided to stay there well after closing. The poetry section was irritating, a small row on the entry-level with nowhere to sit, so Joey went downstairs to Fantasy/Sci-Fi and hoped it was deserted.

If he couldn't work up the nerve now, he never would.

 

* * *

 

The phone rang at ten o'clock sharp, but nobody was there.

"Wake-up call," Snuffy muttered.

Billy fumbled the phone back into the cradle and groaned.

"Why?" Ric asked, yawning hugely.

"Why do you think?"

"Bet Parker arranged it," Hank said, stretching enough to pop his back.

"Shit," Billy said, and buried his face in the pillow.

Snuffy gave his ankle a kick. "You asked for it," he muttered.

"Did not."

"Kids, kids," Ric said, rolling out of bed with an _oof_. "We got any cereal left?"

"No milk," Snuffy muttered, shoving the covers down. The room was chilly.

"Great," Billy said, yanking them back up.

"Let me out, Jesus…" Snuffy shoved them back again and got up.

"What're we in for, do you think?" Hank asked. "Searched rooms and shit, or do they have maids come in when shit like this happens?"

"Dunno," Ric said, mouth full of something that crunched.

Billy threw the covers back, and rolled over, sighing at the ceiling. "They probably just repaired the windows and cleared out the explosives and shit like that."

"Right," Ric said, too dark to mean such a simple reply.

They packed up in silence, exchanging words only when necessary. Snuffy had misplaced his wallet again—on the radiator, said Hank—and Ric spared a few seconds to cringe over how his dress shirt had fallen on the floor and gotten badly wrinkled.

Billy just shoved everything in his backpack and flopped down on the bed, waiting for the next phone call. They didn't have long to wait. Snuffy was still trying to get stuff to fit in his own backpack when the first ring made them all jump. Billy reached it first.

"Yeah?"

"Good morning, Mr. Tepper," Parker said, sounding as if he'd had anything but a good night's sleep all week. "There's a bus outside. You are to be on it in fifteen minutes, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Make sure you don't forget anything."

"Okay."

"Good," Parker said, and was gone.

Billy hung up and shrugged. "Fifteen minutes, outside. There's a bus."

"So stupid they won't let us walk," Hank said to no one in particular, and Ric just shrugged, staring out the window. Snuffy was right; he wasn't all there.

Parker stood right beside the bus door, taking role as they all filed on. Billy glanced around him, squinting, realizing it was the first time he'd seen everybody since they staggered into those hotel rooms ragged and exhausted. He wondered if he was the only one who felt as if their number was somehow smaller by half.

"Montoya…Bradberry…Tepper…"

Parker spared him the briefest glance as he mounted the bus steps. Billy looked up at the driver instead, returning the tiny, polite nod that the man gave him. It was the guy who usually drove the weekend route for special trips to Cambridge or runs to the airport before holiday breaks. He looked older than he ever had, graying hair gone to white.

The ride was as pathetically short as it had been the first time. As the bus pulled up in front of the gate, Billy realized with shock that it was wide open, waiting. Parker, who was standing up at the front of the bus exchanging a word with the driver, glanced outside and put on his best perplexed face, which was pretty damned impressive.

"Okay, everybody off," he said over the intercom as the driver killed the engine and opened the door. "Please wait until everyone is off, then go back to your dorm rooms in an orderly fashion. Dr. Gould is already back; the doors are open. I'm told everything's in order. I would like to tell you know that there will be no regular classes on Monday, but that there will be a mandatory assembly in the chapel at noon. Thank you, that's all."

"Just like that," Snuffy said under his breath, disbelieving, and stood up.

Billy rose beside him, fighting the knot in his stomach.

Unlike the day before, the quad was completely empty. There was no sign of workmen, no yellow tape, no sign that anything had happened. As they milled up the walkway, Billy glanced up to the second story instinctively, looking for the window that Ric had shattered. He couldn't find it, though he imagined that Ric probably could.

On his way up the stairs, he didn't look down, though there were several guys ahead of him who did. He wanted to shout at them, or push them, or make them go another way.

Hank held the door until Billy got there, and it weighed as much as his heart.

Ric and Snuffy hovered off to one side of the bulletin board, waiting.

"You going to the room?" Hank said curtly to Snuffy.

"Nah, I think I'll… You?"

"Yeah," Hank said. "C'mon, Ric."

Ric just nodded, hands in his pockets, looking a bit dazed. He met Billy's eyes for the first time in two days, shrugging. "See you later?"

"Yeah," Billy said, and started up the hall.

"Hey, wait," Snuffy said, footsteps rushing up behind him.

"Would you cut that out?" Billy asked, knowing already what the answer would be.

"For your information," Snuffy said, "I'm not supposed to. I thought you knew that by now."

"I had a good guess," Billy said under his breath, holding the door into the stairwell.

They walked upstairs in silence, and a few more guys followed close behind them, talking quietly to themselves. Billy was still pissed off at the guys outside, and suddenly, these guys weren’t so different. He sucked in his breath and kept walking.

"Wish they wouldn't do that," he said loudly enough for the jerks behind him to hear.

"Do what?" Snuffy asked, walking ahead to get the door at the top.

"Whisper like we don't fucking exist," he said, finally sparing a glance behind. The guys were young, maybe sophomores, and they stopped in their tracks on the steps, staring back with a combination of fear and uncertainty. Billy shook his head and passed Snuffy.

"You didn't hear a single thing I said to you yesterday, did you?" Snuffy asked, his voice echoing loudly in the hall.

"Nope," Billy said, picking up pace. He just wanted to get back to bed, his _own_ bed, thank fucking God. He hoped the guys they'd herded in there hadn't messed it up.

The door opened too easily, knob turning with a slight hitch just as it always had. He stood in the doorway for long seconds, just staring inside. Everything as they'd left it except for the bedclothes: Phil's unfolded and put back on the bed, skewed from somebody sleeping there. Billy's bed messed up, too, but no worse than he remembered leaving it. Top bunk in no better condition, blankets hanging down over the side.

"You want me to stay?" Snuffy asked. "I can stay if—"

"No," Billy said, stepping inside, and slammed the door before Snuffy could get in another word. Damned if he'd have somebody hanging all over him when—

"Billy!"

"Hey, Snuff?" Billy shouted, letting his backpack drop to the floor.

"Asshole, stop calling me that!"

"I have a question for you." He crossed the room and stared out the window. Same view, same tree, same grass down below. Same finger-tracked dust on the windowsill.

"What?" Snuffy shouted.

"When's Phil coming back?"

"What?"

"You said Phil was coming back! When?"

"Oh," Snuffy said, pausing. "Sunday!"

"Thanks," Billy said, crossing over to his bed. He crawled in and lay down, folding his arms behind his head, shifting to get comfortable, except he couldn't. "G'night!"

"Billy…"

"I'm not opening the door."

"Fine," Snuffy said, and Billy heard him retreat.

For all it was great to finally be alone, it wasn't, because nothing about the situation was great. Billy pinched the bridge of his nose and thought about what an ass he was being, that Snuffy was absolutely right, and that was the worst thing for Snuffy to be. The whole thing made his head hurt, and he couldn't remember where the Tylenol was.

Joey had always known.

Billy groaned and pulled the covers up as far as he could without leaving his feet exposed, then curled underneath in a tight ball. If they were afraid he was going to kill himself, suffocation looked like a pretty good option at the moment. Billy blew the sheet away from his mouth, shaking with a sick, halfhearted laugh. God, they were idiots.

It was the Tylenol they should worry about, but seeing as he didn't know where it was, what was the fucking use? He didn't really want to get up, even though his back ached like a bitch, too, and the throb in his skull was creeping slowly from front to back. The only other thing he could think of to make it go away was booze, and—

There was some leftover vodka in the back corner of the wardrobe.

Billy threw the covers off and sat up, wiping the tears from his eyes. Even after mixing up ten bottles of that shit, he'd had half a bottle of vodka left. Joey had taken the remainder of the crème de menthe and stuck it in seltzer water, which was really fucking weird but tasted really fucking good, and thank _God_ there was _vodka_.

Billy got up and crossed the room, bending to rummage boots and fallen shirts out of the way. The bottle was still there, not drained or confiscated, and Billy briefly thanked whoever had occupied the room for not plundering them the way the rest of the guys had tried to dig up food in Derek's room. He brushed some cobwebs off the cap and gave it a satisfied twist. He took a long swig and grimaced, letting the bottle fall to his side. The stuff didn't go down easy when it wasn't mixed up with a bunch of other shit.

Billy wandered over to the desk and sat down, setting the bottle on the edge. His notebook was still there, closed, pencil sticking out where Joey had left off work. Feeling a bit more relaxed, he flipped it open idly and squinted at the page.

He might've been a moron, but he knew a good concluding paragraph when he saw one.

"Jesus _fuck_ ," Billy said, and took another swallow. Just like Joey to go getting up after a great prank and an even greater fuck to go finish Billy's fucking _homework_.

He closed the book and got up, vodka sloshing around in the bottle on his way to the bed, then sat down on the mattress. The floor was starting to look kinda speckled, and not because it hadn't been swept in ages, either. He'd forgotten how straight vodka was.

In any case, he wasn't going to turn in the fucking paper, because it'd be no use, and also, he wanted to keep it. Joey had written it for _him_ , not for some dumb-ass professor. He took another sip before setting the bottle on the floor—yikes, almost tipped—and told Oger, who was on the ceiling, that he couldn't have _this_ Shakespeare action, no fucking way. Everything felt hot, so he flopped backwards, and there was instantly a clink, a crack, and a splash.

"Oops," Billy said to the top bunk, and laughed.

Felt fucking good to laugh, that was for sure. Couldn't remember the last time he'd…no, wait, maybe when they were all outside the bathroom, maybe for just a second. Best prank he'd ever played, if he thought about it, and he hadn't even meant to!

"They think," Billy said slowly, finding his tongue mildly uncooperative, "that you have a serious problem. Serious. Yeah. They think you're gonna…"

And there were the tears again, fucking _endless_ tears washing over him like a punch to the gut or a kick in the head or a fucking hand over his mouth when all he wanted was to scream and run, run, _run_ because if he could just—

"Oh, _God_ ," Billy sobbed, gasping for air, fumbling for the pillow. Couldn't see, it was nothing but a dizzy blur of heat and white and sweat, if he could only just find the fucking pillow or catch his breath or get the hell _out_ of the darkness that was rushing up faster than anything. He couldn't find his way, couldn't _reach_ —

"You are so fucking stupid it hurts," whispered a familiar voice, and there was a warm, heavy hand on his forehead and another one clamping down on his shoulder before it suddenly went gentle, soothing, stroking down to his elbow before it froze, petrified.

"Yeah, well, 'least I'm not—"

Even though Billy was sure he was going to puke if he did, he opened his eyes.

Joey knelt there at eye-level, one hand on Billy's forehead on one hand at Billy's elbow, eyes wide with fear, his fingers shaking so hard Billy could feel it. He opened his mouth, but only a startled breath came out, and he yanked both hands away, reeling backwards.

As the heat poured from his head to the pit of his stomach, all Billy could do was scream.

 

* * *

 

Joey hadn't been ready for this. He hadn't even seen it coming. One minute he'd been in the freshmen's room, pacing, idly waiting, knowing Billy would probably come for the notebook and the stuff he'd left there, and the next—

He'd been standing beside the desk watching Billy flip through his own notebook in disbelief, and following with helpless eyes as Billy took one, two, _three_ pulls of vodka, and then—

Joey had smashed the bottle first chance he got, shaking with fear and confusion.

"Calm _down_!" Joey shouted, rising to his feet. Billy wouldn't stop screaming, and he was trying to struggle off the bed, and there was broken glass everywhere. Joey had scattered it in his haste to back away. "Just calm down, okay?"

"What the _fuck_ are you talking about, there's no fucking _way_ you're even—"

" _Billy_!"

"Oh, Jesus," Billy whispered, slipping off the mattress down toward the ladder, taking a bunch of covers with him. Still wasn't enough to cushion his fall; he hit so hard that Joey heard his tailbone crack against the floor and the sharp, miserable hiss of pain that came with. At least the blankets kept him from getting the glass, at least that Joey could see.

It was more than he could take, really. Billy was _seeing_ him, and he didn't care if it was because Billy was drunk off his ass and hallucinating on fucking 100-proof. Cautiously, he crawled toward Billy and managed to get about a foot away before Billy looked up again with eyes tearstained, glassy, and panicked.

"Must be dead," he said, almost babbling. "Y'know, could've sworn I didn't know where to find 'em to take anything but sure enough s'like my head's on fire and what the _fuck_ are you doing here, you shouldn't even be here, should be in—"

Joey reached out and put his fingers against Billy's mouth, shaking and biting his lip. He couldn't let himself cry. Billy was fucking losing it, and even if he did cry, it wouldn't make any difference, and Billy would probably freak out because he had no tears.

" _Ohmygod_ ," Billy breathed, the words hushed and bunched up against Joey's fingers. Joey felt a thrill spark through him; he could _feel_ that like anything.

"Shhh," Joey whispered, and couldn't think of what else to say.

Billy blinked at him a few times and sniffed hard, then took hold of Joey's hand and pulled it away from his mouth very slowly, blinking some more, like he was trying very hard to get rid of the alcohol but nothing would focus, and this was probably a dream.

"Guess Hell looks a lot like Regis," he said, and dropped it.

Joey wanted to shake him, or hit him, or maybe kiss him, but all three were a bad idea.

"You're not dead, okay?" he managed, scooting a bit closer. "You're drunk."

Billy closed his eyes, clinging hard to the side of the bed, trembling from head to foot.

"I broke the vodka bottle," Joey said calmly, reaching out to touch Billy's shoulder. "No more, all right?"

"Yeah," Billy said, taking short, shallow gasps, cheeks flushed. "Yeah. Okay. Got it."

"And while we're on the subject," Joey said, trying to keep his voice steady, "about…"

Billy opened his eyes, and they were blank, which was something of an improvement over panicked. "I really, really don't want to talk about it," he said plaintively.

Joey bit his tongue, nodding. "Okay, but it's not going anywhere."

"Garbage can," Billy said, clutching at his stomach. " _Now_."

In retrospect, this was what Joey had been afraid of on several other occasions on which it had never actually happened, for which he was grateful. Billy flinched under Joey's touch as he steadied him through retch after retch, and oh, God, there was still glass all over. Joey finally shoved the wastebasket away and held Billy back with his arm, shaking as if he'd been just as violently sick. He wanted to be, that was for sure.

"Can't—" Billy whispered, leaning heavily, clutching at Joey's arm with both hands "—can't _believe_ I fucking drank—"

"Bed," Joey said, helping him stagger to his feet. "No, this way. There's glass."

"Fucking bottle," Billy said, letting himself be steered around past the window and settled down in the edge of the bed. "You're a nice hallucination, you know that?"

It hurt, but Joey let it pass. There was no way Billy was in his right mind, and later or the next morning or whenever he snapped out of it was probably going to be even worse, and he probably wouldn't even be able to _see_ Joey anymore. Maybe that was for the best, but the thought filled Joey with wild panic. He pressed Billy to lie down.

"Whatever you say," he said, sitting down beside him on the mattress. He brushed Billy's hair back from his forehead, wondering if Billy had been sick to begin with. Up close, _this_ close, without the cover of darkness or tree shade, he looked like shit.

"Joey?" Billy whispered, gasping for air again. God, he probably needed water.

"Yeah?" Joey pressed a hand against Billy's cheek, feeling for a temperature. Clammy, just booze-flushed. Billy probably needed something to eat, too. Empty stomach.

"Won't be here in the morning, will you?"

Joey gritted his teeth—fuck it, if they felt like teeth, then they _were_ fucking teeth—and stroked back up to Billy's forehead, smoothing his hair out again, sighing.

"That depends," he said, giving Billy's head a gentle shake to make sure he was paying attention, "on whether you want to see me." At this point, bluffing was all he could do.

Billy's features crumpled, and he turned his face into Joey's hand, reaching up to touch him for the first time in a gesture that wasn't just reflex or helplessness.

"Fuck, Joey," he said, closing his eyes tightly. "More than _anything_."

Joey had the sudden, overwhelming urge to swallow, memory of a lump in his throat, so he did. "If I get you some water, will you drink it?" he asked, voice unsteady.

"Yeah," Billy whispered, clutching his hand tighter.

"You'll have to let go of me first," Joey said patiently, which wasn't strictly true, but he didn't need to freak Billy out any more than was necessary, what when Billy still didn't completely believe he was even there anyway. Christ, this was fucked up.

"No," Billy said suddenly, desperately, eyes flying open. "Don't."

Joey stared back at him, helpless. "Billy, you need—"

"Gotta sleep," he said, tugging on Joey's hand. "That's all. Just sleep."

"You'll dehydrate," Joey persisted, trying to pull his hand away, but the instant he felt tears on his fingers, tears that didn't sink in or dissipate like dew, he knew he wasn't going anywhere. "Jesus," Joey whispered, stroking Billy's cheek, brushing his eyelids with his fingertips. Real, so fucking real, more real than anything else. It gave him hope.

"Knew I'd find you," Billy murmured, soft and slurred. "Knew I'd get you if…"

"Go to sleep," Joey whispered, letting Billy clutch his hand until Billy's grip went slack and his head dipped heavily into the pillow, until his breath came in even sighs.

"Love you," he said. "Even if you're fucking stupid," he added, and sat there pondering how on earth he was supposed to get a glass of water for whenever Billy woke up.

 

* * *

 

Worst fucking nightmare he'd _ever_ had.

Billy groaned, rolling onto his side. At least he'd had the sense to…to do whatever the hell he had done to himself on the bed. His head swam, and he clenched his eyes shut tighter. Oh, right. Vodka. He was lucky he wasn't puking his guts out on the sheets.

There was the sound of the desk chair scooting back, of bare feet crossing the wooden floor. Somehow, the thought of bare feet and the wooden floor brought to mind the thought of broken glass, and Billy sat up blinking dizzily, panicked.

"No, don't come near—"

"It's okay," Joey said holding what looked like a coffee cup from the cafeteria out to him. "Parker got in here with a key this morning and saw the mess. Cleaned everything up."

"Oh, my God," Billy said, staring. How much _had_ he had to drink?

Joey was smiling in a way Billy had never seen him smile, if that was even Joey, strained and sad and hopeful all at once. He held the cup closer, and Billy saw it was water.

"You're gonna be dehydrated," he said.

Billy couldn't see any way around this. He wasn't drunk anymore, and if he screamed, the neighbors would probably report him again (he didn't doubt that's how Parker found out something was up), and he'd be back at square one, or possibly even _minus_ one.

"Thanks," Billy said, taking the cup as quickly as he could without spilling. It tasted like bathroom tap water, so he had to assume that's what it was. As long as he was looking at the bottom of the cup, that was a few more seconds he didn't have to think.

"You scared me," Joey said quietly, stepping up to the side of the bed.

Billy lowered the cup, wiping his lower lip, and stared again.

"Look, I don't even know if I believe you're here, all right?"

Joey's expression turned familiar, that old spark of anger lingering just beneath his eyes.

"Do you have any _fucking_ idea how much I've been through this past week?"

The words hit like a ton of bricks, or a jet of ice-cold water trickled down his back, or both at once. Billy set the cup down on the mattress and covered his face with his hands. He still wasn't used to the fact that he was never, ever going to stop crying about this.

"Yeah," Billy said, muffled in his palms. "I have a pretty good idea."

Joey pulled his hands apart—oh, God, _his_ hands—and knelt in front of him, no longer furious. There was something else about him that hadn't been there before, something so unbelievable that Billy might have doubted if not for that _touch_.

"How can you be so fucking patient?" Billy whispered, no longer caring about the tears rolling down his cheeks. Let Joey know how scared _he'd_ been, that the worst thing in the world had happened and he couldn't change it, except what the _hell_ was this, and why was Joey smiling at him?

"I guess," Joey said slowly, "that I have a lot of time on my hands."

Not alive, then. Dead, dead as he had been and always would be. Billy nodded, looking down at the sheets, letting his tears fall there instead. Better they join what was there.

"Can't stand you like this, you know?" Joey said, his voice unexpectedly cracking. He let go of Billy's right hand and touched his cheek, brushing away fresh tears. "It…it's like…I can't…"

Billy looked up at him again, and that's when he noticed it. Joey was crying, but no tears were falling on his hands, fucking _Christ_ , and even though he could see Joey breathing—in and out, there, _there_ , chest beneath his shirt, God, so _real_ —no stir of air between them, no hint of anything. And Joey was leaning closer, almost—

"Stop," Billy said, extending a hand, pressing it against his chest, and it took all his effort not to pull it back and shout again, horrified. Joey was fucking _warm_.

Joey did, and looked deeply, impossibly hurt.

"What the fuck do you think this is, some kind of prank?" he demanded, letting go of Billy's other hand and standing up, and, oh, fuck, big mistake, _big_ mistake. "Do you think I bothered to save you from…from…whatever the fuck you thought you were doing, I don't know, maybe thought you'd drink yourself to death? Huh? Do you think I'd just sit there and _watch you die like you had to fucking watch me_?"

"Jesus, no! Joey—"

Billy tried to get off the bed and stand up, but he hit his head off the top and staggered back again, hissing in pain, and he could see out of the corner of his eye that Joey was halfway across the room already, almost to the door. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!

"I didn't mean…look," Billy pleaded, finally on his feet, holding the back of his head. "I keep dreaming. I can't stand it. Fucking _nightmares_ , Joey. I never know when I'm awake, I never know when I'm asleep, never know when I'm—"

Joey turned around, one hand brushing the doorknob, and looked at him, expression broken enough to make Billy believe anything he was about to say, oh, _anything_.

"You're awake, Billy," he said, clutching himself, almost as if he was cold, "and so am I."

Billy swallowed the bile that was trying to force its way up his throat, nodding once.

"I know," he croaked. "That's the hard part."

Joey rubbed his forehead and stared at the floor, as if something like that could cause him physical pain. He nodded at his feet, then got a strange look on his face, wiggled his toes with a sigh, and looked up again. For the first time, Billy was accustomed enough to notice the little things: his shirt, his jeans, how tired he looked. So familiar it hurt.

"I really don't want to talk about it," Joey said, reaching for the doorknob again. "At least not right now." He tried to turn it, but it wouldn't budge. Frustrated, he did what looked like poking his finger—no, holy shit, his whole _hand_ right through the lock mechanism and the knob and gave his whole hand an awkward, wiggling turn, expression tensing to the fiercest frown Billy had ever seen.

"Parker locked the door?" Billy asked quizzically, wiping his nose.

"Must've," Joey said, and let himself out without another word, closing the door behind him.

Billy stood there watching the door for a few seconds, half expecting Joey to come back. He'd only walked out on Billy once, and he hadn't been gone for long. Couldn't be.

"Fuck," Billy whispered, collapsing down beside the bed, wincing, why the fuck did his _ass_ hurt? _Jesus fucking Christ, he fucking came back and you couldn't—_

He got up with some difficulty and crawled back onto the bed, picking up the cup and setting it over on the edge of the desk. Nothing he could do about it. If Joey was going to come back, if he had even been there in the first place, then he'd clearly do it on his own time and, hey, wasn't that great, knowing Joey had all the time he wanted?

Billy buried his face in the pillow and sobbed, pounding the mattress once with his fist. Let the neighbors complain if they wanted. Let Parker get somebody to take him away.

He hadn't _wanted_ to be rescued, dammit!

 _Yeah_ , said a voice in the back of Billy's head, _but you wanted to rescue him._

The thoughts were cold comfort, and Billy cried till he was too tired to cry anymore, and hoped sleep would find him soon. It was kinder to him than most things these days.

He must have drifted off for a while, because the next thing he heard was a soft, tentative knocking. His heart woke up before the rest of him did, beating wildly. He told it not to get its fucking hopes up and peeled himself away from the pillow, rubbing the crusted feeling out of his eyes. Maybe it was one of the guys or Parker coming to check on him.

"Hello?"

"Billy?" The voice was tentative, and he didn't recognize it.

"Who's there?"

"It's me," said the voice, just a bit louder. "Yog—um, this is Derek."

"Oh," Billy said, dropping the pillow. "Come in, it's…uh, wait…"

Billy swore under his breath and got up, just turning the doorknob to pop the lock. Joey could be such a show-off sometimes; had he done that just to make a point?

Derek was standing there looking as scared as ever, something clutched tight to his chest.

"You left this stuff in our room," he said, holding out the neatly folded pile.

Billy awkwardly took it off of him, trying not to drop the balled-up pairs of socks on top. "Thanks," he said. "I'd…uh, ask you in, but you know, this place isn't…"

"Really, it's okay," Derek said, scratching the back of his head. "Gotta go anyway. Ted's kind of weird, like…doesn't want to be alone. He made me bring this stuff back now."

Billy processed this for a second, startled by Derek's honesty. God, if it wasn't just Ric, he couldn't help but wonder who else was gonna end up flipped out because there was—

Because there was a—

"Yeah," Billy said quickly, starting to close the door. "Thanks a lot."

"Sure," Derek said, almost lost behind the slamming of the door.

Billy stared at the lock mechanism for a second. Taking the clothes in one arm, he punched it in—quick poke, that was all it took—and turned the knob to unlock it again. Easiest thing in the world. There was no way Joey couldn't get it open. He wondered how the hell sticking his finger through like that made any…fuck, it made a lot of sense, and he was right about Joey being a show-off. In order to pick it like that, he'd…

Billy crooked his finger and set it up alongside the doorknob, giving his wrist a flick.

"Ghost," Billy said. "A fucking _ghost_."

Fine, he got the message. Some stories were true, and you learned them the hard way.

Billy took a shaky breath and let his hand drop, then went over to sit down at the desk before he dropped any of the shit he was holding. He let the pile spill into his lap and started to pick through it piece by piece: his socks, Joey's socks, his jeans, Joey's white shirt, Joey's—

Notebook.

Clothes forgotten, Billy turned it over in his hands, worrying at the badly bent corners. None of them had been very kind to it, but then, it hadn't always been something worth hanging onto in the way it was now, and furthermore, was Joey going to want it back?

Billy flipped through the pages, recognizing the sketches in the first part, some interspersed with notes. The notebook from last year was the really amazing one; he knew Joey kept it in the bottom desk drawer under some regular sketchbooks. This one was…frightening, somehow, even before the portraits started. The colored piece, hell if he even knew where that had come from, acid-trip rainbow colors and twisted, embryo-like figures. And the wall, always the fucking stone wall, Joey liked drawing the gateway to the cellar like it was some private joke between them. And the portraits, there they were, one by one, faces to be skimmed over quickly, maybe ripped out if Joey agreed to it ( _if Joey came back_ ), then some more odd sketches, then blank pages, then—

Billy paused, hand spread flat on the page. It was dated, and it didn't fit the chronology.

"June," Billy said, fingering the top line. "What the fuck were you writing back here in _June_?"

The text was in blocks; it looked almost like a poem, but a couple of seconds of scrutinizing the whole page told him it was a song, and the writing was harder to decipher than usual, and there were scribble-outs along the margin and question marks above some of the words, and…oh, Lord. About halfway through, the pencil turned to black pen, a hesitant, shaky scrawl. It would take some squinting to figure out. The first part was easy, relaxed, as if Joey hadn't been thinking too hard when he first…

_Back when I started, you bet I was empty_  
 _Running from demons, the place I call home_  
 _When you arrived, I was sure you despised me_  
 _Who finds a friend in a guy he can't know?_

_Running from demons, I know I'm mistaken_  
 _Hiding my heart is the best I can do_  
 _So, when you found me, at worst I was shaken_  
 _You took my hand and it shook me right through_

Billy closed his eyes and clamped one hand over his mouth. He wasn't sure he could take it, but it was never like that, you couldn't just _stop_ when you found something like this, whether it was a note or a letter or a last will and testament. He opened his eyes again, shaking. That was how the truth felt, then, like that, and Joey wrote:

_Hold on, love, I'm coming_  
 _Hold on, I'm following you_  
 _Hold on, love, I'm coming_  
 _Coming, coming—_

_Back when we started, you bet I was angry_  
 _Couldn't make sense of this, couldn't make sense of us_  
 _All that you had to do was understand me_  
 _That's what you did, and that was enough_

_Couldn't make sense of myself, now I'm standing_  
 _Here in the open; it looks like we've won_  
 _Glad that you found me, I don't regret hiding_  
 _And should you ever take your turn to run—_

_Hold on, love, I'm coming_  
 _Hold on, I'm following you_  
 _Hold on, love, I'm coming_  
 _Coming, coming, coming_

_Hold on, love, I'm running_  
 _Hold on, I'm following through_  
 _Hold on, love, I'm coming_  
 _Coming, coming back_

"Why the fuck do you do this," he asked the paper, squeezing both sides of the notebook so hard that they bent, blocks of pages crinkling. "Why the _fuck_ do you—"

He could see through the paper, something written on the next page, or maybe the page after.

"You're gonna kill me," Billy said, wiping his nose as he flicked the page over. "You won't have…to wait…"

_Billy, I'm writing this on September 23rd, 1991. It's Monday. I'm at Regis, and this whole place is empty. I know where you are. I saw you sleeping at the motel._

_I don't have to tell you what this means. Nobody can see me or hear me, at least nobody I've tried talking to. Can't believe it. I realized I could move things, though. That means I can write this. I know you're going to get this book back. This sounds so stupid, but please listen to me. Read me, what the fuck ever. I can't think of anything more important. If you don't believe this, I don't know what you…_

_I can't do this. But I'm sitting here doing it, and you're sitting here reading it._

_I guess all that matters is that I tell you I love you, and I am. And I do. And I'm here._

Billy glanced up at the sudden movement in front of him, and Joey _was_.

"I thought you'd get the book back first," Joey said, arms folded tight as if he had to brace himself up. He looked sick and hesitant, and he looked as if he'd been crying for hours. "I didn't think you'd ever see me. I didn't think…"

Billy stood up, letting the book fall in a flutter of pages.

"I can't tell you," he said, looking Joey straight in the eyes, "how sorry I am."

Joey unfolded his arms a bit, letting them loosen to a sort of clasp in front of him, eyes questioning. It wasn't so different from the last look Billy had seen on his face.

"Why? What do _you_ have to be sorry for?"

 

* * *

 

"Everything."

Joey shook his head, letting his hands fall at his sides. That was the most fucking ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. Was Billy that eager to blame himself for everything? Didn't he _know_ who was to blame, couldn't he understand what had happened?

"Billy, if _anybody_ needs to apologize—"

Billy gave a short laugh, then brought his hands up to his face again, covering it. God, would he ever stop doing that? Did he know he didn't have to? Joey reached up and pulled his hands away for the second time, letting Billy's hands slip in his grasp, settling into his own. How long had it been since they'd held—

_Someone touched his hand, he thought._

Joey shuddered and tried to pull back, but Billy had a hold of him now, eyes wide.

"Don't," Billy said softly, vehemently. "Don't _ever_ say that."

"Okay," Joey whispered. For the first time, his throat felt dry, and he wondered what the fuck was happening that there had even been a difference for him to notice in the first place. He swallowed, and suddenly, overwhelmingly, _he_ needed the water.

"Joey," Billy said softly, still looking at him, Jesus, he'd hardly _blinked_. "Are _you_ gonna be okay?" Billy's hands were sliding up his arms now, almost to his elbows, then _there_ , then on his upper arms, and there went his sleeves, bending…

"No," Joey whispered. "Something's wrong. Really wrong."

Billy blinked, fingers tightening on Joey's arms. "I…I'm not sure I…"

"I don't, either," Joey said, and gave up. This was fucking ridiculous. Something about Billy being this close put a heat-flush all over him, and his clothes felt too real, and fucking _everything_ felt too real, right down to the fact he was standing there.

"Okay," Billy said softly, stroking Joey's arms now, rocking them slightly. "It's okay."

"Shut up," Joey whispered, and wrapped his arms around Billy's neck before terror made him pull back, before it made him realize he was dizzy like he hadn't been since the last time he'd been sleep-deprived and Billy had kissed him anyway, and they hadn't stopped.

It was like kicking open a fucking _floodgate_.

Billy's mouth didn't taste any different than it ever had, except for the vague trace of sick and in the sense he was tasting it here at this point beyond all logic and reason and where he'd felt so fucking _empty_ before, he felt so fucking full he might burst. He had no choice but to cling, because it felt like Billy was the only thing holding him up, the only thing giving him strength of any kind, arms circling his back and fingers in his hair and voice scattered in moments of breaking between breaths _oh god between breaths_ —

Joey set his hands against Billy's shoulders and shoved with all his might, panting.

Billy moaned in protest, but he seemed to snap out of it the second he realized—

"I think," he said unsteadily, "I know what you're talking about."

"How are you not freaked out right now?" Joey asked. He was starting to shake, and there was something about that, about the fact his toes felt like they might be sticking to the floor and that his cheeks were hot as summer and his stomach clenched… _and_ …

"Phil's coming back tomorrow," Billy said, desperation and resolve clicking together all at once as he tugged Joey in again. "Don't know about you, but I'll take alone time and freaked over being calm and having him moping around me like the other guys do."

It was amazingly simple, if you thought about it.

"You have a point," Joey said, letting his fingers comb through Billy's hair, fucking _wow_ , were his fingers damp, too? "But, um, look…I don't know if…"

"I don't care."

"Oh," Joey said, blinking down at the tiny stretch of floor between them, the way their feet were staggered just so, both bare on the wood—he'd wished his shoes away that morning, fucking useless if he was going to bed-sit—his right between Billy's, his left trapping in Billy's right. "Then I guess—"

No guessing, apparently. Billy kissed him again, long and slow and deep, and there was the dizziness again, his head fucking spinning, and this time it was as thrilling as it was frightening, and what pressed up in him was a laugh, almost a shout. Billy hissed _quiet_ against his cheek and sat down on the edge of the mattress, mindful of the top, and pulled Joey after him. He didn't manage to duck in time.

" _Ow_!" Joey hissed, crawling onto the mattress beside Billy, one hand clutched to his head. "What the…"

Billy was looking at him as if he might just be having second thoughts.

"It…hurt?"

"Yeah," Joey confessed, rubbing the spot. "Hurts when I kick trees, too."

"I won't ask," Billy said, and reached out to stroke his cheek.

Joey felt a rush of relief and leaned over, kissing Billy on the mouth. If he tried hard enough, he could forget everything that had happened, because Billy sank down under him just like every other time they'd one this, clutched at Joey's arms as they kissed and asked in breathless snatches for things that Joey teased him about because he never quite managed to ask in complete sentences. He gave up and worked his hands up underneath Joey's shirt, blinking up at him, confused.

"Your clothes are real."

Joey shrugged, rocking back on his knees.

"That's the thing. I don't _know_."

Billy stroked the small of his back, making Joey shiver all over.

"Where are your shoes?"

"I…" Fuck, how was he supposed to explain that? "Made 'em go away," he said, because that was the only way he could reasonably think of when what he wanted more than anything was to be naked and for Billy to be naked, too, right this instant.

Even as the room seemed to grow cooler, he watched Billy's eyes fill with disbelief.

"You—" he began, lifting himself up on his elbows, wincing "— _how_ did—"

Joey made an angry gesture and crawled away, sitting down beside the pillow. Great, just great. All his clothes gone now, and it would be pointless to just remember them back, and there was Billy having to look at him probably just…remembering…

"I just told you I have no fucking idea," Joey said, picking at the pillowcase, irritated. "All I have to do is think about them not being there, or about taking them off, and there you go. Happy?"

Billy sat up and carefully scooted over beside him, one arm braced behind Joey so he could lean into it if he wanted to. "You want to know the truth?" he asked.

Joey nodded, staring at the pillow. Things were bad, but they sure couldn't get worse.

"I've never been so happy in my life."

Joey managed to let out a choked laugh, because God, it _hurt_. Everything hurt—everything except Billy leaning in to rest his chin on Joey's shoulder, everything except _this_.

"Me neither," Joey said, and before he could come up with some stupid self-rebuttal, Billy had both of his hands and was guiding them to the hem of his t-shirt, eyes calm.

"Still kind of sore," he admitted, lifting his arms. "Can you…?"

He could, all right, but the memory of anger filled him so fast that he wondered for a moment if it was Billy's or his own that he felt. Did it even _matter_?

"Turn around," Joey said unsteadily, tossing Billy's shirt to one side, one hand on Billy's shoulder as he did so. "Fucking hell," Joey whispered, hand falling in shock.

Either Billy hadn't been taken care of right away, or he hadn't _let_ anybody take care of him right away. Most likely the latter, Joey realized, and he managed to collect himself enough to run his fingers lightly over the cuts. They _were_ healing, but they looked angrier than they should: empty, the scabbing thin and tight, clear, as if they'd been washed out one too many times, not covered with enough salve.

Joey leaned and kissed Billy's back, unthinking. They'd taken this from him. He hadn't been able to finish. He rested his cheek against Billy's nape, sighing.

"Sorry. Must hurt."

"No worse than anything," Billy said softly, and reached back to touch Joey's hair.

Joey took a deep breath and hooked his fingers in Billy's belt loops, tugging.

"Make them disappear."

"I thought that was your department."

"Nice try. Move your ass."

"Ow. _That_ hurts."

Joey bit his lip as Billy shifted around and sprawled out beside him, trying not to laugh. By the look on Billy's face, he could tell Billy had no fucking idea how that happened, and Joey wondered whether or not he should tell him. Two seconds later, he decided he _shouldn't_ , as it was bad enough that Billy was voluntarily on his back and his jeans looked way too tight for comfort. It reminded him of what he was feeling himself, and how he was sure he shouldn't be feeling it, but there it was anyway: hot, twitchy, disconcerting. Billy was looking at him with something other than shock in his eyes, something old, familiar, and entirely comforting even if Joey didn't know what would…

"Penny for your thoughts," Billy said gently, taking hold of Joey's wrists once he'd managed to get Billy's jeans and boxers worked down to his knees. Fuck, this part was always funny, but somehow, it wasn't anymore. It was serious, maybe even sacred.

"I'm not gonna repeat myself," Joey said, watching him kick the useless garments onto the floor. "I've never done this."

For a brief moment, Billy gave him a confused look that quickly turned apologetic.

"You better not have," he said in a low voice, and tugged on Joey's hand.

"You know what I meant," Joey whispered, squeezing Billy's fingers, letting himself be drawn. He settled in the crook of Billy's arm, nestled up beside him.

"God," Billy whispered, then turned a little, just a little, and kissed him, then nuzzled Joey's neck, breathing deeply. "I don't know how you…"

"Don't either," Joey murmured, closing his eyes, letting his fingers tangle in Billy's hair. Everything like it used to be, except for this huge, hurting rift. Unbelievable.

"I miss you," Billy breathed in his ear, and something _snapped_.

The last time they'd kissed like this, longing and desperate, was probably…fuck, Joey couldn't recall, because it was taking every last bit of restraint he had not to flip Billy and pin him so hard he'd have more bruises. Joey clutched at Billy's back just long enough to feel him tense and whimper, then settled on his shoulders instead. God, those bastards. He cradled the back of Billy's head, holding him still enough to nip and suck at Billy's lower lip without causing significant damage. One more thing he shouldn't have been able to do that he seemed to be doing all too well: taste and be tasted.

" _Joey_."

His name, _just_ his name, soft and pleading against his mouth. They were pressed up flush now, every last stretch of skin where it should be, his own as damp and prickling as Billy's. Somehow, it was reassuring to know he could feel more than sadness, anger, and sickness, even though the rules were changing faster than he could keep track. Something about Billy here like this, something about kissing and touch.

Joey rolled back and let it overtake him, trusting. If he couldn't do that, _then_ what? He couldn't run from the fact that he was just as turned on as he'd ever been, never mind that it shouldn't be possible. Billy's body sure didn't seem to know the difference.

"Yeah," he whispered, letting one hand drift down Billy's side to rest at his hip. This made things so fucking hard. He wanted to touch Billy all over, but it seemed like more than half of him had sustained some kind of fresh injury in the past week. "M'here."

Then Billy kissed his mouth again, and he wrapped his arms around Billy's neck, helpless. It was one thing to be legitimately anxious, but in the end, really, it was just stupid. Billy was holding him, kissing him, _hard_ up against him, and never mind that the tears on his cheeks in his eyes felt all of a sudden too heated, too real.

"Fuck," Joey gasped, holding him back for just a second, fingers spread against Billy's cheek, dampened by the tears streaming over them. "Miss you, too."

Billy made a pained noise in the back of his throat and nuzzled his cheek, trembling, before he picked up the gentle rhythm again, as if to say it was all he could manage.

"Shhh," Joey said agianst his ear, wrapping Billy in as much of himself as he could, holding tight. He didn't dare open his eyes now; it was building, breaking. He thought of a dark, cool room and moonlight through glass, glinted off the ocean.

_For a moment, the pain was stunning._

That was how it had been, and that was how it happened.

"Oh, oh, _fuck_ ," Billy was groaning, shaking and _gone_.

Joey shuddered and wrapped around Billy tighter, holding the memory until it washed through every part of him and free again, lost in the wet heat against his belly, in the cooling prickle on every last inch of remembered skin. _His_ , his and Billy's.

"Love you," he said, too shocked to think of anything else he could mean as much as that.

"Even if I'm fucking stupid?" Billy's words were muffled against his neck.

Joey just nodded, trailing a hand down to Billy's tailbone. He didn't have to be told.

 

* * *

 

Best dream he'd had in his entire life, and it got better as he woke up, if a little awkward.

"Shit," Billy whispered.

Joey was asleep against his chest, cheek plastered there, hair all over the place, fist curled an inch from his nose. For the most familiar sight in the world, it was completely _off_. Billy couldn't feel any breath against his skin, and as for a heartbeat…

He closed his eyes and decided he'd deal with that later. Couldn't afford to scare Joey.

Now that he had some time to think about this, _really_ think about it, he had no idea what he was _supposed_ to think. Joey was here in this room, in his fucking _bed_ , sleeping like he hadn't just gone through who-knew-what to get there.

Instinctively, Billy tightened his arms around Joey's shoulders. Whatever it was, whatever he'd been through, Billy would be _damned_ if it was going to have him back. If it meant selling his soul or some crazy shit like that, Joey would probably kick his ass, and as far as Billy could tell, being dead wasn't hampering his ability in that department whatsoever. Hell, he could write, break shit, pick locks…

 _Don't you dare_ , Billy told himself, and ran his fingers up the back of Joey's neck.

"Mmf." Joey twitched, turning his face away from the light, eyelashes brushing Billy's skin.

For a second, Billy felt panic worse than he'd felt that day on the quad. This wasn't some joke, some incredibly elaborate prank, unless that's how Joey had managed to write it off.

"What's wrong?" Joey mumbled.

"What?" Billy said hoarsely.

"Your heart's racing."

"Don't take it personally or anything," Billy said, tentatively stroking Joey's hair, "but I'm this close to having a panic attack, okay?"

Joey yawned and turned his head again, cheek flat over Billy's breastbone.

"It's useless," he said, voice soft and sleepy. "Trust me."

Billy sighed, letting his hand fall still. Yeah, that was pretty fucking profound.

"I don't get it," he whispered, unable to stop himself.

Joey sighed, exasperated, and lifted his head, then shifted so he could lie with his arms folded across Billy's chest and under his chin. "Look," he said, "if you wanna talk, talk."

Billy took a deep breath, then nodded, reaching up to brush Joey's cheek.

"Who let you do this?"

"The weird thing is, I don't remember asking," Joey said. "All I remember is—" he hesitated, shut his eyes tightly for a second, then opened them again, face relaxing "—my mom, actually. It was like…I was…home, dreaming, something. I woke up at home."

Billy couldn't breathe.

"Really?"

"Yeah," Joey said. "So, I went downstairs, right? And Mom's there making breakfast in the kitchen, and I'm thinking, shit, this is junior high and they sent me home or something, only…I was thinking about you. I mean, I _knew_ you. And Mom was saying, just…weird shit, I can't even remember all…and I mentioned you, and she was like, 'Who's Billy?' And that was when I realized I had a problem."

"But how'd you get _here_?" Billy asked, realizing he had permission to be curious.

"That's the weirdest part," Joey said, eyes widening as sleep faded from them, no different than—than any other morning, Billy told himself firmly. "One minute Mom's putting tea in front of me and I'm freaking out over you and asking what year it is and then—I was—fuck, you had better not laugh."

"Promise," Billy said. He couldn't have laughed even if he'd wanted to.

"I broke the fucking cup, and then I was standing in front of Dr. Gould's desk and there was the same kind of tea spilled all over the place and broken china. That's it."

Billy couldn't think of anything to say, so he just nodded slowly, carefully.

"You think I'm insane," Joey said, turning his head away.

"Correction," Billy said, lifting his head enough to kiss the top of Joey's. "This is so fucking surreal that I can't think of anything that wouldn't stound dumb as hell. Like this, for instance. I sound like…shit, I sound like I'm in a bad movie or something."

Joey laughed, startling in the silence of the room.

"So, you…didn't see, um…angels or God or _anything_?"

"Nope. Just Mom, tea, and the Old Mouse."

"You should write a song about that," Billy said, then froze.

Joey must have felt him tense, because he lifted his head, questioning.

"Did you—?"

"Yeah," Billy said quietly, relaxing again. "Saw it."

Joey nodded, then let his eyes drop to Billy's chest. "Because, uh, I didn't…I'd wanted to…it was for…well, _you_ , obviously, but it's not like I knew…"

"I wouldn't rule out somebody knowing," Billy said gently, unsure of why he was suddenly willing to be okay with all of this, willing to stop asking questions.

"Yeah," Joey said pensively, and curled up again.

They lay in silence for a long time, listening to the gradual waking and stirring that inevitably began in the halls. About an hour had passed before Billy realized that he had no idea what _time_ Phil was coming back, and—

"Fuck," Billy whispered, shoving at Joey. "Fuck, get up. Phil—"

"Oh," Joey said, sitting up. "Shit. Right."

A horrible, horrible thought crossed Billy's mind.

"Joey, um, d'you think he'll be able to…"

"You're only the third person who's seen me, and one of those doesn't count because he was dead, too."

Cold terror gathered in Billy's stomach. _No_. No _fucking_ way.

"Don't look at me like that, I didn't—" Joey stopped, blinking rapidly, then started to shake his head. "No, oh, _man_ , didn't mean… Frank. It was Frank."

Billy rubbed his eyes and stared at Joey, not sure he'd heard right.

"Do you mean to tell me—"

"I, uh, think he's gone now," Joey said. "I started talking to him the other day, you know, trying to find out if I could figure out if _he_ remembered anything, except he had, I don't know what the fuck, total amnesia? Yeah. He couldn't remember shit. It's like nothing ever happened except the soccer team and the prank and…"

Joey was staring down at the sheets, eyes glazed and blank.

"Stop it," Billy whispered.

Joey looked up again, eyes clearing.

"I'm sorry?"

"Just…" Billy shook his head and leaned over, giving him a quick kiss. "Never mind. I've gotta get dressed, and we've gotta figure out what to do with you. Wait, no. Who else saw you?"

"Gina," Joey said, looking away.

Aw, _shit_. Like he had any business making Joey remember something as awful as that; hell, the kid could barely talk, let alone tell somebody—

"Oh my _fucking_ God," Billy said, and walked across the room as fast as he could, fingers clenched in his hair. Too much information. "Don't you tell me you were—"

"I didn't have any goddamned choice, asshole!" Joey shouted, getting up from the bed, anger in every line of his posture. "One minute I was minding my own business and the next, fuck, I'm standing in front of the fucking church and then Ceci comes outside—"

"Oh, Jesus," Billy whispered, covering his face with his hands. " _Fuuuuck_."

"I didn't go in, all right?" Joey asked plaintively, and when Billy let his hands drop again, Joey was giving him the most apologetic look he'd ever seen on his face. " _I'm sorry_."

"It's…" Billy shook his head at the floor and bit his thumb, oh _God_ , he was gonna fucking _lose_ it. He cleared his throat, swallowed with difficulty, and looked up at Joey even though his vision was swimming. "It's…not your fault."

Joey's expression hardened again, lips twisting. "Oh, like _hell_ it wasn't, if I'd just fucking gone—"

"I said _enough_!" Billy shouted.

Joey was staring at him as if he'd finally lost it.

"You need to stop yelling," he said carefully, closing his eyes, holding a hand out as if to keep Billy at a distance. "Now."

Billy swallowed and nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "Guess I do."

"Somebody probably heard you," Joey said, opening his eyes again. "I just realized something, okay? You talk to me and people are gonna think you're a fucking nutcase."

Billy considered this, letting the words sink in.

"Worth the risk," he said. _Fuck it_.

"Another thing," Joey said, taking what looked like a deep breath. "I think Ric maybe heard me in the limo."

Billy felt his heart speed up again. "You…" He looked for the right words; Joey seemed like he was a little angry and it wasn't worth making him mad again. "The fridge…"

"Nope, not me," Joey said, "if you mean the bottles all over the place. It always did that, just never when we rode in it. But if you mean on the way back when something thunked against it—"

"Didn't even notice," Billy admitted, starting to move for the wardrobe. He really needed to get dressed before somebody came knocking to ask if everything was all right.

"I tried talking to you," Joey continued, staring at the floor, clutching his elbow awkwardly. "I…yeah, I think he heard me."

Billy stopped dead and turned around, remembering something.

"Shit, _you_ said his name?"

Joey was looking up, nodding slowly, cringing.

"Oh, man," Billy said, reaching for a shirt. "That could be trouble."

"I kind of wanted…" Joey stared at the floor again, sighing, and for a split second his eyes closed and he was wearing clothes, all except for his bare feet. Different clothes than before. Billy stared for a few seconds, suddenly and desperately curious.

"Give him some time," he said instead of asking stupid questions about clothes. "He's really freaked out. So's Snuffy, by the way, only in a different way."

Joey was walking toward him now, arms folded across his chest.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't wanna go into it, but it's kind of like this: Snuffy was all over my ass the other day, telling me I wasn't the only person who'd lost somebody and how he remembered you pressing leaves and smiling at him, or some shit like that, _why_ did you never—"

"I'm gonna kick him when I see him," Joey whispered, eyes narrowed, furious.

Billy shrugged into his shirt, wincing, and started on the buttons.

"What, was he not supposed to do that?"

"No, it's just that I don't think he ever forgave me for ignoring him when he used to flirt."

"Well, shit," Billy said, and started to laugh.

Joey grinned hesitantly, shaking his head.

"You know what's funny?"

"What?" Billy asked, straightening his collar.

"That's my fucking shirt," Joey said, stepping up to him, and kissed him.

Billy didn't realize somebody was knocking till they'd been standing there for about thirty seconds exploring each other's mouths like they'd never done it before. _Jesus_.

"Who's there?" he yelled.

"Mr. Tepper, open this door."

"Geez," Billy said, rubbing the back of his neck. He gave Joey an apologetic shrug and stepped away, walking over to the door. Breathe, remember? In, out. Gonna be fine.

"Good morning," Parker said, looking just about as rested as he'd been looking all week.

Phil was standing behind him, clutching his suitcase handle like a security blanket.

"Hey!" Billy said, stepping past Parker. God, it had been—

Phil backed up a step, smiling hesitantly. "Hey."

Billy caught himself and stopped, rubbing his forehead. "Good to see you," he said, meaning it. He wondered if Joey was standing just where he'd left him, or if he'd gone to hide, or if he could fade completely from sight. All those thoughts were uncomfortable.

"Mind if we come in?" Parker said, reminding Billy he was there.

"Uh, yeah," Billy said, shrugging. "C'mon." He turned, leading the way, and saw that Joey had taken a seat at the desk, watching all of them with anxious eyes. Billy met his eyes for a few seconds, wondering what the fuck he should do, then turned around again.

"So…" Phil began, then stopped. He blinked at his bed, frowning.

"We're sorry about that," Parker said. "These rooms were occupied, so your bed was made up again for obvious reasons. I'll have some clean ones sent, all right?"

Phil just nodded, his eyes as blank as if Parker had just spoken Russian.

"Billy, would you help him get settled back in?"

"Sure," Billy said, and noticed that Parker was holding a backpack out to him along with a meaningful, don't-say-anything-unnecessary kind of look. He swallowed, nodding.

Three seconds later, Parker was gone, and he was alone with Phil.

"So," Phil said, still staring at his bed. He looked up, daydreamer out of a trance.

"Yeah," Billy said, glancing over his shoulder at Joey, who was chewing on his thumb and looking generally distressed. He looked like he wanted to leap out of the chair.

"Look, before I fuck this up, I just wanted to—"

"Gah, um, you know," Billy said quickly, setting the backpack down so Phil wouldn't watch him with nervous hawk-eyes anymore, "that's really not necessary."

Phil frowned, eyebrows drawn together.

"You don't even know what I'm about to say."

Billy covered his face and groaned into his hands, spinning around on his heel. This was going to be a fucking blast, wasn't it, first Joey back as a _ghost_ and now Phil—

"I thought you died."

Billy looked up, hands dropping to his sides. Joey choked so loudly it was a miracle Phil didn't turn his head toward the desk. "You—" Billy paused, staring at him "— _what_?"

"When I saw the news," Phil said steadily, dispassionately, sitting down on the edge of his bed, "they said there was a student casualty. I thought it was you."

"What did they say that gave you the idea—"

"Fucking _Christ_ , Billy, like you're not the one everybody was worried about!"

"Well, I guess you should've been worried abuot your other roommate, too!" Fucking frightening, how easy it was to fly off the handle now, even the _tiniest_ —

"Oh, fuck you! I spent every waking moment in Ass-Fucking-Nowhere _Nebraska_ —"

"Wow," Billy said, forcing himself to calm down. Joey was standing up now, hands fisted at his sides. Had to keep control now. "They took you to _Nebraska_?"

"Yeah," Phil said, expression blank again as his voice relaxed. "It was so boring."

"Well, you're back."

"That's the most obvious thing anybody's ever said to me."

"Sorry," Billy muttered, staring at the floor.

"Welcome back," Joey muttered, and paced back to the desk. He sat down hard enough to make the chair creak. Billy caught his breath, hoping Phil wouldn't…

"What was that?" Phil asked, glancing past him.

"Dunno," Billy said. "Next door?"

"Huh," Phil said, then gave his pillow an experimental punch. "Then I guess…"

"Don't do this, okay?" Billy said, crossing over to his bed so he could keep an eye on both of them. "It's not like you're having an easy time avoiding it, and it's not like I want you to."

Phil looked up sharply, wearing almost a mirror image of the you're-freaking-me-out look Joey had given him. It was so funny that Billy had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

"You're sure getting through this," Phil said, his voice breaking, "better than I am."

Billy tried to say something once, twice, then failed as the tears started rolling down Phil's cheeks. Oh, God. Fucking _hell_ , why had he tried to act normal?

"Actually, I'm not," Billy said, trying not to bite his lip, because Joey was giving him the most heartbroken look he'd ever seen, and Phil was crying into his hand. "Phil…"

He looked up, sniffling. "What."

"I had a full fucking week," Billy said, taking a deep breath, "to lock myself in that fucking motel bathroom and consider not coming out again, got it?"

Phil's eyes rounded, but the rest of his body went still as a picture.

"Jesus, no. Don't you fucking dare. I'll fucking kick your ass if you—"

Joey was giving Billy the most _horrified_ look he'd ever seen.

"So will I," he said, starting to rise from the chair again. "So help me _God_ , if you even so much as _think_ about—"

"Joey!"

"What the…" Phil was looking at him again, all empty-eyed fear and despair.

Billy looked away from the desk as quickly as he could.

"I'm not gonna promise you," he said, "that I'm in my right mind, okay?"

Phil swallowed, nodding.

"To be honest with you," Billy said, pausing, considering his words carefully, hoping he just passed for distraught, "it's like…I…still…"

"See him there," Phil said, nodding quickly. "Yeah. I know."

Joey bolted out of the chair, shaking.

"That's it, I'm fucking _out_ of here—"

"Wait," Billy said, then steeled his eyes on Phil, " _wait_ , you mean—"

"Fuck, it's so empty," Phil said, and sank down sideways onto his mattress, fingertips clutching at the sheet. "I mean, I can picture just…last week. Week before that? Like…"

Joey let go of the arm of the chair, not trying to run away anymore.

"Like nothing happened," Billy said quietly, gesturing for Joey while Phil wasn't looking. "I know."

"Jesus _fuck_ , I'm sorry," Phil muttered, sitting up again, rubbing his eyes. "It's like, okay…I'm not the one who…"

"You lost him, too," Billy said, making a conscious effort not to shift over as Joey sat down beside him, so close their thighs touched. "I'm not any different—"

"Billy, he loved you a lot."

Joey shivered, pressing in close against his side. Billy wanted to reach and gather him in, but he restrained himself, clasping his hands on his knees.

"Yeah, and I love—" Billy caught his tongue, stopped it, slipped the next word through with a breath "—him a lot, too, but so do you, for crying out loud."

"It's not the same," Phil said, and rolled over, turning his back on them.

"Well, no, not like _that_ , but—"

"I'm kind of tired," Phil said in the the tone he usually saved for end-of-discussion zingers.

"Good to know he's still pissy," Joey said, letting his arm slip around Billy's waist.

Billy just gave him a hard look, then tilted his head at the door.

"Yeah," Joey said, tugging at him, standing up. "C'mon."

"Be back," Billy said, in Phil's direction, not really expecting an answer.

"That was just wrong," Joey said once they were in the hall, glancing both ways before taking hold of Billy's shoulders. "Fucking look at me, all right? Okay. You realize what a problem we've got here?"

"Yeah," Billy said, taking Joey's hands off his shoulders and starting off in a random direction. "A big one."

"He can't see me," Joey said, walking along beside him. "But, _fuck_ , the chair—"

"Are there any other ghosts around here?" Billy demanded.

Joey gave him a blank look. "No, Frank's gone."

"When did he leave?" Billy said, mind going a mile a minute.

"Don't know, yesterday? Thursday?"

Billy stopped in his tracks and turned, giving Joey a hard look.

"That's not what I meant."

Joey stopped, too, then made a helpless gesture at the ceiling before closing his eyes and wrapping his arms around himself, shivering violently. He opened his eyes again, pale.

"I don't know."

"Great. You mean you haven't seen—"

"Believe me, I haven't gone looking."

"Yeah, yeah, okay," Billy said, reaching for him. "I'm sorry. Didn't…"

"We've gotta stop this," Joey said, taking hold of Billy's hands on his shoulders, just as Billy had done with his. "Right now, okay? Make me a promise."

"What?" Billy asked, ready to fly to the moon if that's what Joey wanted.

"No more apologies. They're dangerous."

Billy shivered, tightening his grip on Joey.

"Yeah," he agreed.

"Great," Joey said, offering him a shaky smile. "You need breakfast."

Billy felt like saying he wasn't hungry, but one look at Joey and arguing was out.

 

* * *

 

Snuffy was in the caf when they got there, sitting alone at one of the long tables and picking his fried eggs apart like he expected to find something in them. Joey should have been prepared for it, but seeing Snuffy's bloodshot eyes and haunted expression were almost as bad as dealing with Billy in self-destructive mode.

"Hey!" Snuffy called, spotting Billy before Billy saw him. "Over here."

Billy gave Joey a brief glance over his shoulder before veering off course from the brunch line and heading for where Snuffy was sitting. Joey didn't want to get any closer, but he followed Billy anyway. The impulse to kick Snuffy was still pretty strong.

"What's up?" Billy asked, leaning against the wall. He didn't want to get close, either.

Snuffy shrugged and let his fork drop. "Hank didn't want to get up," he sighed, "and Ric's not answering his door. You?"

"Phil's here," Billy said, and glanced back at Joey.

"Don't," Joey said, fighting the impulse to whisper. "He'll notice."

"Right," Billy said, turning his head sharply back to Snuffy.

"What?" Snuffy asked, frowning at him.

"Nothing," Billy said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Eggs any good?"

"They suck," Snuffy replied, smiling thinly. "Thanks for asking. Thought you were still on pots and pans."

"Fuck, no," Billy said, pulling his hands out of his pockets and folding his arms across his chest. "Parker's got a stick up his ass, but he's not a sadist."

"We should all have dinner," Snuffy said pensively, staring down at his tray. It was the worst transition Joey had _ever_ heard, and Snuffy seemed to know it.

"Maybe," Billy said, tensing. "If you can get Hank up. Phil's in bed, too."

"Dinner's not till five," Snuffy said, picking up one of his hash browns and pointing at the clock. "It's only twelve-thirty."

"I can tell time," Billy said, unfolding his arms, turning around with a grimace. "C'mon," he said, starting back for the food line, which was dwindling.

"Me?" Joey asked, not surprised to hear Snuffy's voice pipe up in perfect unison.

"Yes," Billy said, stopping. "I mean—no. Forget it. See you at five."

"If you can get Phil up," Snuffy called after him, sounding more than a little bitter.

Billy got fried eggs, hash browns, and an English muffin, but all he did was push them around on the tray. Every time he started to say something, Joey just reached across the table and touched his hand or his wrist, shaking his head. If Billy shouldn't talk, neither should he. The effect was probably just as bad, Billy making miserable faces at nothing.

"Let's go outside," Joey suggested once Billy had dumped his tray.

"Sure," Billy said, reaching out briefly, then letting his hand fall at his side.

The weather was pleasant, though Joey was irritated to realize that there was little difference between outside and inside these days, at least as far as he could tell. Billy was a lot happier to be away from prying eyes, and once they were behind the buildings, he took Joey's hand without asking. Joey didn't protest—didn't _want_ to, even, as it was getting pretty tiresome—but he couldn't help but think Billy'd make a strange sight.

"You're quiet," Billy said, glancing over at him.

"Thinking," Joey admitted, staring down at their feet. Same shoes as always, same squeaking through the same old grass. Still, the world had changed beyond telling, and in a couple of weeks, almost nobody on the outside would care.

"About?" Billy stopped, gently squeezing his hand.

"Things I shouldn't ask you," Joey admitted, sighing and swinging their arms.

"You _can_ —"

"Nah," Joey said, hoping his smile was convincing enough. "Not yet."

There in the shade of the bricks, Billy kissed him like nothing at all had changed.

When they got back to the room, Phil was sitting up on his bed, shuffling through a stack of papers. He looked up when Billy closed the door, eyebrows raised.

"Guess brunch is over," he said, kind of disappointed.

"Yeah," Billy said, "but w—while I was down there, I ran into Snuffy. He thinks we should all have dinner."

"How is he?" Phil asked, tossing the papers down on the floor.

Billy sat down at the desk and shrugged, giving Joey no choice but to sit on the bed. Less chance of noise, though, and Joey was grateful that Billy was starting to think.

"Looks like he hasn't slept in a week," Billy replied.

"I don't think any of us have," Phil said, twisting the hem of his pillowcase with both hands. "Dinner's probably a good idea. How's…" Phil trailed off, then looked up, hands going still. "Hank? What about Ric?"

Joey looked at Billy, too, realizing he didn't know the answers to those questions.

"Hank's holding up," Billy said, scratching his neck. "Ric…Ric is, um, I'm not sure how to…"

"Freaked out," Joey supplied, chewing his thumbnail. He felt bad about that.

"Well, what?" Phil asked, anxious.

"Freaked out," Billy said, starting to look up at Joey, then letting his eyes drop to the floor. "Afraid. He went to the funeral, too. Not so good since then."

"I wish I could've gone," Phil said, not flinching away as he said it.

Billy stared hard at the floor, clasping his hands in front of him.

"Uh, yeah. Wish you…all could've, actually."

"There's the memorial service tomorrow," Phil said quietly.

Joey started with shock, fingers clenching in the sheets.

"Billy, what—"

"What?" Billy asked, head flying up.

Phil blinked at him a few times, lowering his chin.

"Assembly at noon? I thought you new?"

"Fuck," Billy said. "Yeah. Um, never mind."

Joey closed his eyes and wound his hand as tightly in the sheet as he could, wishing he could disappear. Really fucking sad, considering Billy'd just started seeing him.

"Careful," Billy whispered under his breath, and Joey realized he wasn't talking to Phil.

"Fuck. Sorry."

"Careful with what?" Phil asked, starting to look about as paranoid as Ric.

"Never mind," Billy sighed, breath slowing as Joey let go of the sheet. Phil probably hadn't noticed. "Just, you know. Ric. Freaked out and shit. I know you miss—"

"Shut up," Phil snapped. "You're making me feel like the world's biggest jerk."

"Get the fuck over yourself," Joey said, standing up. That was it. He'd—

Billy was giving him a wild, desperate look, so he sat down again.

"You're so fucking lucky you're deaf," Joey muttered, crawling back onto the mattress. Fuck it. He told his shoes to beat it and lay down on the pillow, shifting till he was comfortable. The mattress creaked gently, which gave him a bit of satisfaction.

"Dinner," Billy said, and Joey heard his voice getting closer. "Five o'clock sharp." The mattress sagged as he crawled onto it. He settled beside Joey awkwardly, reaching forward to touch his shoulder.

"You're on thin ice," Joey said. "You put your arm around me and—"

"Shut _up_ ," Billy hissed, and did anyway.

"Sorry," Phil muttered, and there was the sound of rapid footsteps, then the door opening. "Gonna look for Ric," he muttered, and slammed it hard enough to rattle the bedframe.

Relieved and guilty all at once, Joey rolled over under Billy's arm and kissed him like he'd been kissed outside, hoping they didn't have to discuss this, either, until later.

Billy fell asleep shortly after that, so Joey held him and watched the clock on the desk, wondering if Phil would show up before it was time to go to dinner. By the time three-thirty rolled around, he hadn't, so Joey let himself doze for a little while. Phil had probably found Ric or somebody after all, and that was somehow reassuring.

At a quarter till five, Joey shook Billy awake and told him they should go.

"Yeah," Billy agreed, smiling at first, but it faded as quickly as waking.

How they ended up being the last ones there even though they were early, Joey would never know. He trailed a few steps behind Billy, ashamed at the sinking feeling he got at seeing them all gathered at their usual round table. Hank was beside Snuffy, quietly reading, and Ric was beside Snuffy, but talking to Phil. Snuffy was staring at the table like he was regretting this big time, and he looked up when Billy got there, eyes flicking to the two empty chairs as if he hadn't thought this through clearly enough.

Without even a glance behind, Billy pulled out both the chairs and sat down in one of them. Snuffy looked back down at the table, mumbling something in greeting. Only then did Billy look back, eyes hard, nothing he could do could hide the panic underneath.

Joey slipped into the chair beside him without a sound, folding his hands in his lap.

"Hey," Ric said, blinking as if he'd just noticed Billy was there, eyes flicking briefly to the empty chair. "Maybe we should—"

Billy's hand fell on the back of Joey's chair, shaking it.

"No," Billy said levelly. "Got it?"

"Yeah," Snuffy said, starting to nod slowly at the table before he elbowed Hank hard enough to make him drop the book. "I fucking told you."

"Yeah, but you don't have to tell me like _that_ ," Hank said, elbowing him back.

"Ow!"

"Jesus Christ, knock it off," Phil said irritably, giving Ric an apologetic look, but _why_ , Joey couldn't fathom. "Hey, Billy."

"They're not serving yet," Ric said absently, staring up at the clock. "Five more minutes."

"No shit," Snuffy said. "Anybody know what we're having?"

"I don't know about you, but my nose is working just fine," Hank said, trying to find his place. He was doing the English reading, Joey realized with amazement. He'd forgotten.

"Oh, boy," Billy said, slumping in his chair.

"Hear ya," Joey said, and put his head down on his arms.

Luckily, a line seemed to be forming, so Billy made a vague excuse and went to get in it, followed by Snuffy. Joey didn't see any point in getting up, even when Billy gave him a helpless look from across the room. He shook his head. No way. He'd just be underfoot.

"I hope he doesn't mean he's gonna do that all the time," Ric said in a whisper.

Joey turned his head at the sound, staring.

"Do what?" Phil asked, lowering his voice to match.

" _That_ ," Ric said through gritted teeth, nodding right at Joey.

"Why?" Phil asked, looking at Joey, shrugging. "I don't have a problem with that."

Ric folded his arms in front of hims, hands clasped around his elbows.

"It's freaky, that's all," he said quietly.

"Billy was right," Phil muttered.

"I didn't mean to," Joey said, not sure what good it would do. "Ric. Hey, Ric—"

"Did you…" Ric trailed off, staring at Phil, wide-eyed.

Phil's eyebrows were scrunched up impossibly high. "Did I…?"

"No, he didn't," Joey said, and kicked the closest table leg as hard as he could.

"Fucking cut it out, man," Ric said, scooting away from the table faster than Joey had thought possible. "I'm going to get in line."

Phil stared after him for a couple seconds, wild-eyed, then got up, hands spread in confusion. "Cut what out?" he demanded, dashing to catch up.

"I hate this," Joey said, then stood up, because Billy was looking at him again, questioning. "I hate this, do you hear me?" he called a bit louder, alarmed when he could hear his own voice echo. "I can't fucking _stand_ —"

 _Stop it_ , Billy mouthed, words plain as day. He looked afraid.

Joey sank back down, miserable. It was gonna be a long night.

 

* * *

 

To put it mildly, dinner was a fucking disaster.

Billy had expected silences, and sure, there had been those, but framing them were the worst outbursts he'd heard from any of them in a long time, and it was a good thing Parker hadn't come in while they were there. Hank just wanted to do his goddamned reading, but Snuffy wouldn't get off his case about it, and Phil and Ric had retreated into each other, all but talking in whispers. And Ric had kept glancing across the table at Joey's chair as if it might bite him, and every time Joey had said something…

"What did you do?" Billy whispered as they walked up the staircase, bound for the room alone. Phil had said, hesitantly, that he was staying with Ric for the night.

"I didn't do anything!" Joey insisted, gripping the railing angrily. "I sat there."

"I mean before you started yelling."

Joey scowled, then kept walking, taking the stairs two at a time. "I tried to talk to him, all right?" he said under his breath, reaching the double doors before Billy did and yanking one open. "Be my guest," he said, holding it wide.

"You're lucky nobody else is here," Billy said, and walked through, pulling Joey away from the door. "What the fuck do you think this is going to accomplish?"

"Billy," Joey said, hanging on his arm, "if Ric can _hear_ me, then maybe—"

"No," Billy said, shaking him off. "Don't wanna think about that."

"You're fucking selfish sometimes," Joey said, and ran ahead of him to get the door of the room. He opened it just as defiantly as he'd opened the other one, leaning with his back to prop it open. "I don't want him to be afraid anymore. If I could just let him know—"

"Like you said yourself, we have problems," Billy said, yanking him inside the room, letting the door slam behind them. He crossed over and locked it before Joey could argue, then turned around to glare at him. "Look, this isn't how I would've chosen to spend your second night back, but I've got some news—"

"I've been around longer than that," Joey said, annoyed, and sat down on the edge of Billy's bed. Great, just great. The temper was still there after all.

Billy took a deep breath and kicked out of his shoes, then walked over to the bed, trying to collect his thoughts before sitting down. For all he knew, Joey would shove him away and make him sleep on the floor or the top bunk or something like that. The thought terrified him, so he decided to go for the most obvious approach, which was begging.

"I didn't mean it like that," he said, sighing. "I know you've had a bad time, Joey. I can't imagine, but _we're_ having a really bad time, too, maybe some of us worse than others. If Ric's gonna see you, I don't know, maybe…maybe in his own time. Maybe just like I did, you know? Maybe he just has to sort some shit out."

"Or get drunk," Joey said tonelessly, staring at the floor. He looked up suddenly, eyes confused and afraid, maybe a little hurt. "Why can you still see me? Why didn't it go away? I mean, fuck, if the only reason you could see me was because the vodka fucked with your head, I think maybe something's wrong with—"

"I don't _know_!"

Breathing hard, Billy sat down beside Joey and folded his arms tightly across his chest, wanting to shake Joey or worse. He held back and took a few deep breaths, letting each one out slower and slower until he was aware of Joey's hand on his shoulder, soft and tentative like Joey was afraid he might blow up or something. He glanced over and then away, abruptly ashamed of himself. Jesus Christ, what was his _problem_?

"I'm glad it didn't go away," he said, reaching up to cover Joey's hand with his own. "I don't know what I'd be doing right now if it had. I'd probably…"

"That's one thing I _don't_ want," Joey said, voice low and frightened.

"Then let's concentrate on that," Billy said, forcing his voice to sound calmer than he actually felt. "Let's focus on what we don't want to happen, which is all the bad shit, and maybe stuff we want will…" Fucking hell, he sounded like a _moron_.

"Okay," Joey said, and moved their hands away so he could rest his head on Billy's shoulder. "Better idea than I've got, anyway."

Billy felt his throat tighten, but he stroked Joey's hair back and kissed his forehead like he was in control of this situation anyway, because _dammit_ , somebody had to be.

"I don't want Phil to ruin shit," Billy said honestly, resting his lips there. _Because I don't know how long we have, and I'm not letting you out of my sight_.

"No kidding," Joey said. "That's the worst thing.

 _Not quite_ , Billy thought, but kept it to himself. "Anyway, he's not here," he said, "and I'm still fucking tired, and I just want to hold you, if that's okay."

Joey turned his head a little more and kissed Billy's neck, nodding.

Billy woke up to the same thing that he'd awakened to the day before: Joey curled up in his arms, messy hair and flushed skin and sleepy sprawl. The clock said he had a couple hours till the assembly, and since he hadn't been disturbed by anything, he had to assume Phil hadn't been there yet. Could mean trouble, unless he could think fast.

Billy was only just beginning to think about the mechanics of all this, of what Phil _might_ see even if he couldn't see _Joey_. If the blankets were over both of them, for some reason, they didn't fall _through_ Joey. That's what made it scary, how Joey was apparently made of something that was astonishingly close to real life, yet _nothing_ in a split second if he so chose. Billy had seen him put his hand through a fucking doorknob and make his—were they even clothes?—disappear like _that_.

On the other hand, there was the fact that they'd more or less had sex that was no different than it had ever been except that half the mess was conspicuously gone.

Billy closed his eyes, realizing he was giving himself a headache.

"'Morning," Joey mumbled, and kissed his shoulder.

Billy grunted in response, nuzzling the top of Joey's head because that didn't require him to talk, and also, how was he supposed to ask Joey for answers _he_ didn't have?

Phil didn't show up until half an hour later when Billy was dressed and curled up beside Joey on the bed while Joey flipped through his latest music magazine. Billy snatched it away hastily, smiling as the door swung open, frowning just as quickly when he noticed Phil's expression. He looked grumpy, rumpled, and kind of worse for wear.

"Ric's going insane," Phil informed him, then went rummaging in his suitcase.

"How so?" Billy asked, setting the magazine aside. Joey's eyes followed it wistfully.

"He thinks this place is haunted now."

Billy bit his lip, not sure how to answer that.

"He never thought it was haunted before?" Joey asked, then swore under his breath.

"He never thought it was haunted before?" Billy echoed, sitting up carefully.

"I guess not," Phil said tossing aside some shirts before settling on one, then tugged a pair of jeans out from the very bottom. "He said he never felt anything before, but now he feels shit like crazy. Especially when you're there, he says."

Billy rolled his eyes, then glanced at Joey.

"Not like I can just leave."

"You could," Phil said, standing up and looking at him, "but that would be stupid."

 _Yeah_ , Billy thought, avoiding Joey's worried look. _We'd all fall apart_.

"Walk down with me?" Phil asked uncertainly, lingering as if he had something important to say. "I'm gonna take a quick shower."

"Sure," Billy said. "No problem."

Once Phil was gone, he picked up the magazine and gave it back to Joey.

"I wish I knew what to do about this."

"Don't look at me," Joey said, taking the magazine and flipping through it, then dropping it down between the bed and the desk. "I've got enough to think about."

"Yeah, and I wanna talk about that later," Billy said pensively, staring at his hands. "But for right now…"

"You've gotta go," Joey said, and leaned over to kiss him.

"Yeah," Billy said, leaving one hand against Joey's cheek as he drew away. "I do. You sure you don't…"

Joey shook his head, dislodging Billy's hand. His eyes were darker than usual, serious.

"Gotcha," Billy sighed.

The last time Billy had been in the chapel was Convocation, way back at the beginning of September. As they walked up the aisle scanning the pews for the other guys, Phil remarked that this was the only part of the school that still felt _calm_ somehow, and Billy realized with shock that, to his knowledge, none of Cali's men had entered it.

Snuffy was waving at them from the third row, almost falling over the back of the pew.

"Somebody put him out of his misery," Phil said under his breath, tugging on Billy's arm.

Hank was there beside him, and on the other side of Snuffy, Ric was leaning back as far as he could, too, trying to catch Phil's eye. Phil went in first, slipping past the others with a bit of difficulty, then made Snuffy get out of the way so he could sit between him and Ric. Billy was glad to have Hank as a buffer between himself and Snuffy.

"Long night, man," Hank muttered, hardly audible above the soft hum around them. Everybody was talking, and even though Billy wasn't looking around, he could feel eyes on them. "Not doing so bad, though. Yourself?"

"Quiet," Billy said, not sure what he could say that wouldn't sound too-hopeful out of the ordinary or too-dejected out of the ordinary. "Phil stayed with Ric last night."

"He's fucking freaked," Snuffy whispered, leaning over Hank. "We're haunted now, did you know that?"

"Shut the hell up," Hank muttered.

Snuffy gave him a strangely patient smile.

"You first."

"Shhh," Billy whispered, staring down at his shoes. "Geez."

When he looked straight ahead, he noticed for the first time who was sitting up on the stand. Dr. Gould was standing at the podium, eyes searching the audience as the other students found seats, looking anxious. Parker was behind him, sitting in one of the chairs, looking like he'd maybe gotten a _little_ sleep by now, although maybe it was time for another dose of painkillers. Billy recognized a couple of teachers—Oger and Luthin—and the protestant chaplain, thought he couldn't for the life of him remember his name, ever, because he was also in charge of counseling along with—

Father Green. Joey had talked about him, but Billy hadn't really ever given it a thought. He'd probably seen the priest around campus, too; he could remember Joey mentioning that there were enough Catholic students for him to be there part time. Whenever Joey had actually bothered to go to Mass, he'd sometimes come back talking about this or that thing that had stuck with him. The guy had pale, graying hair and a quiet look about him.

"Excuse me, if I might have your attention up here for just a moment…"

"Great, here goes," Snuffy muttered as everyone fell silent. The hush seemed to echo off the stone and stained glass above, falling softly around them as Gould cleared his throat.

"I would like to thank you all for arriving here in such an organized and timely fashion. As you well know, we are extremely fortunate to have been permitted to return so quickly under the given circumstances, and I would like to extend my sincerest thanks…"

Billy closed his eyes and leaned forward against the back of the pew in front of him, letting his forehead rest against it. Gould could make just about anything boring without even trying, and even though everything coming out of his mouth was solemn and necessary and made a lot of sense, Billy didn't want to hear it. Hank elbowed him lightly.

"I'm awake," Billy hissed.

"…further ado, I'd like to extend to you all the warmest welcome back, and I will now be turning the time over to the Dean. Edward, if you would…"

Whatever Parker had to say, Billy was pretty sure he didn't want to hear it, only for entirely different reasons. He was finding it more difficult _not_ to pay attention to Parker, especially when it really mattered, especially since he owed the guy. Fucker.

"In everybody's best interests, I'd like to keep this brief," Parker said, gripping the sides of the podium awkwardly. "I, too, would like to thank you, but for different reasons. I would like to thank you for showing grace and courage under the worst trial in the history of this school, and I would like to thank you most of all for having the decency and courage to trust your fellow classmates at a time when all your lives were at stake.

"I don't feel that it's necessary to name names, as you all played a part in seeing each other to safety, but I would also like to remind you that you know where your deepest thanks are due, and I would like you to take a moment, when you get the chance, to express them as such."

Billy glanced over at Hank, and by then, it was too late to look away. They were all looking at him, right down to Phil at the end of their row, and beyond that…

"And furthermore," Parker continued, "I ask that you would take a moment now to remember those that we've lost. May Frank Ingram, Jesse Miller, and Joseph Trotta always be held in the hearts of the Regis community, and may we do whatever is necessary to help reach other move forward from this tragedy."

It was the last thing that Billy had wanted to hear, but closing his eyes and bowing his head lower meant that he didn't have to look at anybody, and nobody else was looking at him. Somewhere in the echoing silence, there was barely disguised sniffling, even the hint of tears. Billy fought the impulse to open his eyes, wondering where Derek was.

After long seconds, Parker continued, "I would like to remind you, as at the start of every semester, that Reverend Marcus and Father Green are here and available for counseling."

Billy let himself look up again, shocked to find that he was hardly the only one with tearstained cheeks, and that Father Green, with pale, curious calm, was looking at him.

"…also regret to inform you that classes will be resuming tomorrow on a regular Tuesday schedule. Upper-level sciences will be taught by a substitute until further notice, and if you have any questions that you would prefer to ask me on an individual basis, I will be available in my apartment for the rest of the afternoon, as will Dr. Gould be in his office. Thank you," Parker concluded, "and please get some sleep."

There was a little bit of relieved laughter as everybody started to get up, but not enough for it to be the prevailing sentiment, and for that, Billy was grateful. He didn't move to get up, and neither did the other guys, just sitting there quietly, staring at their hands (or, in the case of Phil and Ric, at each other). Billy rubbed his temples, then realized that a pair of familiar shoes had edged into his field of vision. Somebody out of the aisle.

"Mr. Tepper," Parker said.

"Hi," Billy said without thinking, looking up. "Sir."

"I'd like to have a word with you in my office," Parker said calmly, though he looked more red-eyed than he had at the funeral. "You too, Mr. Donoghue. Mr. Montoya."

What the _shit_ was this? Billy glanced over at Phil, but he looked away too quickly for Billy to catch him. Ric was looking up at Parker, nodding.

"Sure," Billy said, giving up for the moment. "I'll be there."

On the way, several students Billy knew just a little bit or not at all gave him claps on the shoulder and scattered words of thanks. Robert Anderson even stopped him in the hall, and he didn't let go of Billy's shoulder till he turned to face him head-on, at which point it was too late to pull back when he realized that Anderson was giving him a fucking _hug_.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and pulled away before Billy could tell him he didn't have to say that, that it wasn't anybody's fault, just, please, for fuck's sake, _wait_.

"C'mon," Phil said softly, hurrying him along. "Parker's waiting."

Ric was already in the hall outside Parker's apartment, leaning against the wall, clutching one arm nervously against his side with the other. What was this, an ambush?

Parker's door opened without warning.

"Gentlemen, come inside."

Billy glanced around at the familiar surroundings: desk in the corner, battered couch, stupid statues on the mantel. The one he'd run up the flagpole was there, repaired by Billy himself at the end of last school year with resin and polish. The rest of his punishment was probation at the start of this term, and—shit. Was he still _on_ it?

"Please, have a seat," Parker said, and there was room for all of them as long as somebody sat on the couch with Parker. Billy took the end closest to him while Ric and Phil took the armchairs, glancing nervously back and forth.

"What I want to make clear," Parker began, "is that none of you are in trouble. In fact, I'd like to apologize, Mr. Tepper. I'm under the impression that you had no warning, and I should have informed you that Mr. Donoghue stated any such intentions to me in the first place."

Billy frowned, staring at Phil. "What—"

"There's something I had to address with you two anyway," Parker said, formality suddenly dropping away. "Someone will be coming for Joey's things tomorrow, and I wanted you to be aware of that. Also, there's no need for the two of you to remain in that triple if you don't want to. In fact, the administration would prefer that you didn't."

Billy was too shocked to reply, let alone wonder what Parker meant by _administration_. What the _fuck_ did this have to do with—

"I don't want you to take this the wrong way," Phil said carefully, glancing at Parker as if begging permission to speak. Parker looked kind of uncomfortable, but he nodded anyway. "I was thinking…look, I think we both need some space."

Billy just nodded. He could definitely see where this was going. As offended as he was, he couldn't say he blamed Phil, and he didn't dare count his blessings just yet.

"I asked Phil if he wanted to share a double," Ric said softly, staring at the floor. "I can't…um…I'm kind of on edge right now, you know?"

"Yeah," Billy said, trying not to laugh at how unbelievable it was, not to mention it was an understatement. Ric was probably sleeping badly for the very reason _he_ was sleeping well. "I mean, I understand. No offense taken."

"I'm just going to keep putting my foot in my mouth," Phil said, giving Billy an earnest, apologetic look. "It's not your fault I can't deal with this."

"It's nobody's fault," Billy said automatically, and he realized Parker had been looking at _him_ the whole time.

"I'm not especially thrilled at the idea of you being alone," Parker said slowly, "but your friends tell me you've been doing much better—" there was a pause for what only Billy and Parker knew "—these past few days, and I'd be willing to let you have a single as long as you can promise me you won't abuse the privelege." How, set up a meth lab?

"I wouldn't mind that, sir," Billy said, hardly believing his ears.

"Hank and Snuffy said they'd move into the triple if you really didn't want to leave it," Ric said, biting his lip. He seemed really torn up about this whole thing, the idiot.

Billy thought about it for a minute. He could take the triple or leave it; Joey was his biggest concern. He'd probably be mad when Billy told him they'd be taking his stuff.

"I'd be getting _your_ room?" Billy asked, looking Ric straight in the eye to make it clear that he wasn't mad or anything.

"Seeing as Mr. Montoya has one of the few singles available that would be opening any time soon," Parker said somewhat dryly, almost rolling his eyes. "What do you think?"

Billy let his eyes drop to the floor, then shrugged, looking at Phil and Ric before looking back at Parker. "How soon would we be moving?"

"Tonight," Parker said matter-of-factly. "I'm sure we'd all like to get some rest."

"Sure," Billy said, shrugging, letting just the right amount of indifference show. "Deal."

He'd never seen Phil and Ric so relieved in all the time that he'd known them.

 

* * *

 

Joey stared at Billy's suitcase, watching Billy toss clothes in haphazardly.

"I don't know how the fuck you did it," he said, and started pacing again.

"I'm telling you, I _didn't_ ," Billy said, stuffing a bunch of pairs of jeans in on top of his badly-wrinkled shirts. "It was like, bam. They thought this shit up completely behind my back and didn't even tell me about it."

"I mean, it's…" Joey paused, unable to think of a word for what it was. It was so fucking _exactly_ what they needed right now that he couldn't think straight.

"Yeah," Billy said, wrestling the suitcase shut. "You can say that again."

"All my stuff," Joey said, staring at the top bunk. " _All_ of it?"

"That's what Parker said," Billy sighed, standing up. "I knew you wouldn't be happy."

"No, it's…" Joey frowned, then reached up and took down his laundry bag, staring inside. Socks, boxers, a couple t-shirts. "Not like I _need_ it anymore."

"What about the clothes?" Billy asked, pointing at what he seemed to be wearing. "I mean, did you ever think that when you…um, think it away, or whatever you do, it goes someplace, and when you think it back, or something else, it…um…"

Joey looked up at him, horrified.

"I hadn't," he confessed, frowning.

"Don't listen to me," Billy said, hauling his suitcase into a standing position. "I have no fucking idea what I'm talking about."

"No," Joey said slowly, remembering something with a shiver. "You actually ahve more of a point than you think. When I went to…well, where you were, only I didn't know exactly where _that_ was gonna be, I mean the day of the funeral…there was…I was writing. In the freshmen's room, with a pen. The notebook fell off my lap, but when I dropped the pen, it hit concrete."

"What?"

"Church parking lot," Joey said, watching Billy's look turn horrified, too.

"Holy _fuck_ , you made something go from one place to another?"

"Uh, Billy, if I went looking for that pen in their room, I don't think I'd find it."

"We gotta figure out what of yours we can take that they won't miss," Billy said, rushing around and collecting little stuff that belonged to him—a book here, a piece of clothing there—"ASAP."

"No kidding," Joey said, dropping the laundry bag. Clothes weren't exactly important; those would come to him no matter where they were hiding. Hell, what he had on was technically in New Jersey, though he supposed it wasn't technically anymore.

"This is so fucked," he muttered, running his fingers through his hair.

"Do you have any idea," Billy said suddenly, dropping his notebook back on Joey's desk, "what that _means_?"

Joey just blinked at him, still buzzing with this newfound knowledge. He felt lightheaded, if that was even possible. He was sure he knew, but if he…

"Pranks," he said hoarsely. "Don't look at me like that. I know what you're thinking."

Billy stared at the floor, sighing apologetically.

"Shit, I didn't…look, not like that. Yeah, we'd have to be careful, and…"

"I refuse to think about that," Joey said, pointing at him, "until I get at least one thing I _really_ want, which is the two of us outta here, okay? Let's pack my shit."

It was difficult figuring out how much of Joey's stuff they could pack in with Billy's without making it too obvious that Billy was technically taking stuff that he shouldn't be taking, and Phil burst in a couple of times to fetch more of his own stuff, which he was shifting up the hall to the double that he'd be moving into with Ric. The second time, once he was gone again, Joey picked up the book he'd been forced to drop on the spot, trying to smooth out the bent pages. Shit, he'd bought it almost a year ago.

"What's that?" Billy asked, coming up behind him. "Important?"

"Yeah," Joey said, frowning. "Got this last year to replace my old copy."

"I'm not gonna try to pronounce that," Billy said. "Want me to pack it?"

"Yeah," Joey said. "And for the record, it's 'Foucault's,' like—"

"French," Billy said, tucking it into a box. "Yeah, I got that."

"Almost a year ago," Joey said, watching Billy put his notebook on top of it, then _his_ notebook on top of that, and he wished he could just _forget_.

"That day you got the wine, wasn't it."

Joey looked up, trying to ignore the pain gathering where his stomach should've been.

"Yeah," Joey said, meeting Billy's gaze with difficulty. "A couple weeks after—"

"Couple more to go," Phil said, coming in unnanounced for the third time. "How's it going?"

"Uh, kind of scattered," Billy said, "but I've got it."

"Need any help once I've finished?" Phil asked, hefting up his box of textbooks.

"Nope," Billy said, staring down into his own box.

Just as Phil was about to leave, Hank and Snuffy turned up out of nowhere, saying they were going to help take Billy's stuff downstairs, because they'd just finished clearing Ric's stuff out of the single, and there was nothing else to do besides sleep.

Joey trailed after them silently, watching Billy struggle worse than Snuffy with the box he'd just finished filling with no more than books, notebooks, and tapes. Rather than follow them back upstairs, he waited on what was about to become Billy's bed—Billy's bed and _his_ , he realized—until the three of them crashed through the door with the last of it, wheezing and sweating. Snuffy dropped Billy's small suitcase and hit his inhaler, gasping, while Hank pounded him on the back.

"I told you Ric's shit would be bad enough."

"And you can…just…blow me," Snuffy concluded, taking a deep, rasping breath before slipping the inhaler back in his pocket. "'M fine, see?"

"Yeah, and I don't want your ass whining all over the room later—"

"Thanks," Billy said abruptly, running the back of his hand across his forehead. "I appreciate it. Really."

"You sure that's everything?" Snuffy asked, shooting Hank a challenging look.

"Yep," Billy said. "If it isn't, I've got it."

"No trouble," Hank said, ignoring Snuffy's comment. "You try to get some rest, you hear?"

Billy laughed, but his heart wasn't in it.

"If I hear one more guy say that, I'm gonna kick his ass," he said. "Good _night_."

As soon as they were gone, Joey found himself staring a wild-eyed Billy in the face.

"Don't you dare say it," Billy said, and went over to the desk where his bedclothes lay folded in the neatest pile they'd been in since his mother last washed them.

"What do you want me to do, pretend it didn't happen?" Joey asked, following him. "I'm sick and tired of this fucking denial, okay? I'm dead and it's not gonna change, so deal with it." The words stung as he spoke them, though Billy didn't flinch so much as once.

"That's not what I meant," Billy said in a tight voice, transferring his bedclothes over to the bare mattress. "And if you don't know what the fuck _I_ mean, you can just fuck off."

Joey yanked the bedclothes out of his hands before he could protest, bending to fish up the sheet with the gathered edges. He threw it at Billy's face, and Billy barely caught it.

"A couple weeks after," he said, the words now bitter and relentless, "you gave me that fucking back-rub, what the _fuck_ did you think I was going to say? _Huh_?"

"I wish," Billy whispered, careful not to look at him as he stretched the sheet to fit one corner of the mattress, then another, "that you hadn't been the one to remind me."

Joey hissed under his breath, grabbing the lower end of the sheet and pulling it down to the foot of the bed, roughly forcing it down and over one corner.

"Did you think it would just go away if you didn't talk about it?"

"I thought maybe it would get fucking easier if you'd have just let it fucking _rest_!"

"Sorry, can't do that," Joey said, wrestling the other corner into place. "Held up my end of the bargain, in case you hadn't noticed. I fucking _finished_ —"

"I'm not gonna turn it in," Billy said, glaring at him, almost in tears. "If you think for even a _second_ that I'm gonna turn in that paper—"

"I did it for our fucking _anniversary_!" Joey shouted.

"It wasn't Saturday yet," Billy said coolly, hardly managing to get the pillow into its case before the tears started coming in waves. He set the pillow aside and covered his mouth with one hand, shaking. "It wasn't—"

"I tried to apologize," Joey said helplessly, crawling across the mattress. "I tried to—"

"No more apologies," Billy choked, both hands covering his face now. "We swore—"

" _Fuck_ what we swore, you got that? I don't care if I made us swear on the fucking Bible, or on my grave, or whatever the fuck it was! _Fuck_ , Billy, I didn't— _Billy_!"

Joey lunged at him, but Billy was already off the bed and on the floor, choking and sobbing. Joey slipped off the edge of the mattress and collided with a bunch of boxes, amazed that the impact hurt at least as much as it would have a week and a half ago.

"Count it," Billy was saying, almost unintelligible. "I said, fucking _count_ —"

"I already did," Joey said, wishing he, too, had tears to show, but all he could do was sound broken. "Billy, when I realized it was Sunday—"

"Twenty-first," Billy was saying. "Fucking _bastards_ , if they could've just waited—"

"I didn't mean no more apologies," Joey said quietly, and Billy looked up at him, red-eyed and disbelieving.

"Then…what did…"

"Should've said, 'No more what-ifs,'" Joey whispered, reaching for Billy's hand. "Because I'm _so_ fucking sorry I can't even…" He made an empty gesture, scooting closer to Billy. "I…" _Say it, say it now or never, get it out_.

"You fucking _left_ me," Billy said, eyes squeezed shut, "the _day before_."

"One year," Joey said, partly because he was too upset to say anything else and partly because he was surprised in a way that was too normal given the circumstances.

"Yeah," Billy said, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, going suddenly still and quiet. "Funny thing is, the whole basement trip was just…" He waved his hand at nothing, wiping his nose again. "Promised you that phone prank who the fuck knows when, but the mouthwash, y'know, some of that money was for…"

"Doesn't matter now," Joey said, steeling himself, wrapping his arms around Billy's neck. "You got me something better."

Billy choked on another sob, but at least it was half laughter. His hands came up to Joey's arms, clinging as if they were the only things left to anchor him.

"Oh, yeah, right. Like what?"

"Our own room," Joey said, letting his forehead rest against Billy's.

"Joey, you're not helping," Billy said, letting go of Joey long enough to wipe fresh tears away from his cheek. "It's not some consolation prize, fuck, didn't even get the _chance_ —"

"I don't know about you," Joey said softly, "but I think maybe we've been given one."

Billy shivered and wrapped both arms around him, shaking.

"Every second," he whispered, "I'm afraid you're going to disappear."

And that was when it hit Joey, as simple as it was.

"I didn't _want_ to leave," he said, "so I didn't."

Billy cried for a few more seconds, muffling the sound against Joey's cheek before it turned into something even closer to laughter than it had been a moment before.

"You know this is the best fucking prank _ever_ , right?"

"If you want," Joey said, finding that he couldn't help smiling. "Except you caught me."

"Happy anniversary," Billy said, and kissed him in spite of his tears.

 

* * *

 

Fucking stupid-ass alarm clock.

Billy rolled over and tried to find it, groping where the corner of the desk should be, but he caught thin air instead, and Joey made a soft sound of protest in his sleep and tightened the arm he'd thrown over Billy's waist sometime during the night.

Billy opened his eyes, blinked once, and remembered where he was. And what had happened the night before, and why he was sleeping naked again, and how—

His back was healing. Itched like a motherfucker, except Joey was pressed up against it with his cheek mashed against Billy's shoulder, so Billy didn't reach back to scratch.

"Turn it off," Joey mumbled, tugging the covers up over his head.

"Dunno what box it's in," Billy said, rubbing his eyes. "D'you?"

"No," Joey said groggily.

Billy stroked the back of Joey's hand, clasping it against his stomach.

"Joey, I have class."

"What th'fuck?"

"Yeah," Billy said. "They're not giving us much time to catch our breath."

Joey made a sound that was more half a whimper than anything else, then drew his arm from around Billy and slid both hands up under the pillow and through to the headboard.

"Wish I could stay," Billy whispered, rubbing his back.

"'M not going anywhere," Joey mumbled into the pillow, sounding kind of irritated.

"I know," Billy said. "I was listening."

Joey lifted his head, smirking.

"After a while there, I wasn't so sure about that."

Billy yanked the covers back up over his head.

"You suck."

"I don't know," Joey said thoughtfully, turning his head under the covers. "Could try."

Billy's breath seized, but he told himself firmly that there wasn't time for that. He pulled the covers back again and bent down to kiss Joey, mentally cursing the angle.

"S'the paper due?" Joey asked.

"Shit," Billy said, pulling away. "Don't know. It was due on—"

"Yeah," Joey said hastily. "I know. They're probably gonna give you slack."

"I hope so."

"Why do you care? Just turn it in."

Billy forced himself to keep breathing through the frozen knot in his chest. "No," he said carefully. "I'd rather just keep it, if that's okay with you."

Joey glared at him.

"Then I'll turn it in for you."

"Fuck," Billy said, knowing Joey would do just that. "Fine."

Joey sat up next to him, leaning over for another kiss, this one slow and less awkward, and before he knew it, he wasn't thinking about the paper or first period English anymore. He was thinking that Joey tasted like sleep and everything dreamless, and what he really _didn't_ want was to go to class, fuck, all he felt was that he _had_ to.

"You'll get in trouble," Joey whispered, hands on Billy's cheeks, but didn't stop kissing him, feather-light pecks between slow, drowning dives that could go on longer if…

"Don't care," Billy said, and flattened him back against the pillow, determined to stop his own breath and not feel it this time. Joey hummed and pressed up, fingers tight on his shoulders. If Joey wasn't thinking about the rules as much as he used to, it wasn't all bad.

Except for the part where it kind of _was_ , and sadness crept into every touch, each moan, even the smallest gesture between them, spinning itself to reach the sun already creeping through the window in a different place, which would take some getting used to.

"Roll over," Joey was saying against his ear, breath shallow and fast, so light it almost—

 _Breath_.

"Uh," Billy said, but he was already on his back and tugging Joey down to him, kissing him deep and fast and hard, _anything_ to forget what he'd just felt.

"Take it easy," Joey said against his mouth, the words pure warmth. "Now…"

At his throat, at his heart, at his bellybutton: breath, warmth, _heat_. The shock of it tumbled through him, thoughts like stones of an avalanche that should have meant pain, except the pain never came, and the sadness seemed to flee before it.

He wondered if he hadn't died during the night.

"Billy, you still with me?" Steady hands on his thighs, stroking. Mouth against— _mouth_ —

"Yeah," Billy grated out, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, no bunk to obstruct his view. "I'm—"

"Good," Joey said softly, and there it was again, faintest stir of air, and _fuck_.

" _Joey_!"

Shouldn't have shocked him like that, so quick and unexpected that he was already coming hard enough to _hurt_ and Joey actually choked as if he really hadn't expected the very thing he'd done who the hell knew how many times since…

Billy groaned weakly, flinging one arm across his eyes.

Joey shifted, almost like he was sitting up, to the sound of his nails scratching the sheet.

"I guess that answers my question," he said, somewhere between amusement and a cool, detached tone that Billy could only associate with him being disturbed or scared.

Billy moved his arm away, taking a few seconds to catch his breath before sitting up, and aside from the part where his bones still weren't cooperating, he was puzzled, too.

"Don't take this the wrong way," Billy said, "but I didn't _hear_ you spit."

"I didn't," Joey said, drawing his thumbnail through the dampness.

"Then…"

"I'm just gonna gross you out if I try to explain."

"Joey," Billy said carefully, rubbing his forehead, "what part of this is any worse than—"

"I thought it was going to stay—" Joey was pointing to his cheek, no, or maybe his lower jaw, fingers forked in a bizarre attempt to express interior space "—but it kind of—" he twisted his hand, letting it fall uselessly onto the bed "—dropped the second I thought about it."

Billy just stared at him and nodded, unsure of what he could say to that.

Joey shrugged, glancing up at him with a half cringing expression.

"Like I have any answers?" Billy said, shrugging back. He reached out on impulse, stroking Joey's cheek with the backs of his fingers. "It's okay. Really."

Before he knew what was happening, Joey was curled up practically in his lap, shivering.

"Something happened," he said against Billy's shoulder, jaw tense. "You got quiet."

Billy hesitated, stroking Joey's hair, and asked, "When?"

"While we were…"

"I'm not gonna freak _you_ out, got it? All you need to know is that I'm not."

"Billy, I gotta figure this out, okay?" Joey said, lost and desperate.

How could he ignore a plea like that?

"I think you breathed," Billy said softly, sighing.

"A lot of…" Joey made a gesture against his shoulder that he couldn't see, another hand-sign hieroglyph in the air with no fucking meaning beyond confusion. "Weird stuff," he said abruptly. "Happens when…yeah."

"What'll make you feel better?" Billy asked desperately. He hadn't been able to stand Joey like this when he'd been alive, much less—

He felt something he couldn't describe happening to his wrist.

"Sorry, don't think your humanity is catching," Joey said dryly, and unclenched his fist as slowly as he'd clenched it, fingers slipping out from Billy's skin and bone and tendon as easily as they'd gone in. He brushed the back of Billy's hand, then, and let his own rest over it, apparently as solid as if it couldn't just melt through in an instant if he wanted.

"That," Billy said unsteadily, "is fucking _incredible_."

"Nope," Joey said, resting his chin on Billy's shoulder. "It's annoying."

"You mean…" If his hands had been free, Billy would've smacked his forehead. "Holy fuck, you mean you have to try hard at _not_ being like…uh…solid?"

"Yeah," Joey said. "I noticed it the first day but didn't want to think about it."

"It's like…the opposite of what you always thought."

"Basically."

"Anyway, come here," Billy said, falling back against the pillow, dragging Joey with him. It was way too late to go to English, anyway. He'd just make a scene if he did.

"You have class," Joey reminded him, sounding vaguely guilty.

"Screw it," Billy said, nuzzling Joey's neck, enjoying the shiver it got out of him.

"Billy," Joey whispered, but whether he was pleading or protesting, it didn't matter.

"Relax," Billy said, taking the chance to roll him over before he got the bright idea to tense up or go to vapor or something crazy like that. "Trust me."

"I do," Joey whispered, clutching at Billy's shoulders as Billy settled over him, and there, _mmm_ , there, he was as hard and wanting as he'd been the night before and two nights before that. "It's just, I don't…"

"I don't care," Billy said, and kissed him on the mouth, quick and soft. "Got it?"

Joey's eyes rounded a little, pensive, but he held onto Billy more tightly.

"Good," Billy murmured, and kissed him again, slow and long now to match the unhurried grind that they'd discovered so quickly, until Joey was whimpering against his mouth and thrusting up against him and forgetting—

"Oh _fuck_ ," Joey gasped between kisses, and Billy caught the shiver against himself with a sigh, almost relieved that there was nothing but this and Joey's low moan.

"Mmm."

"Told you," Joey whispered, almost accusing, but he relaxed under Billy with a sigh.

"The less often I have to do laundry, the better," Billy said, kissing his hair.

"I hate you," Joey murmured, soft and slurred as if on the edge of sleep.

Billy closed his eyes, drifting, because it was better than class any day, and he'd had plans for them somewhere along these lines before it all went to hell anyway, and he _would_ be damned if Joey didn't get his due for writing that fucking stupid paper.

 

* * *

 

Joey had managed to get Billy out the door in time for second period, but the following morning was no different, if even worse. Billy was wearing out fast in the evenings because he'd slept so little in the past couple weeks—was it _really_ almost fourteen days since he'd gone?—and mornings were quiet, and peaceful, and _theirs_.

It was Thursday, and he'd been lucky to talk Billy into getting up at _all_.

There was plenty to do while Billy was in class. Joey had realized on the second day that those boxes full of Billy's junk and his weren't just going to unpack themselves, and as long as he had the door shut and locked and was quiet about rearranging…

He was almost finished, and proud of it. Billy had come home from class the day before and given him a strange look over the bookshelf being full, and Joey had asked him what the fuck he was supposed to do while he wasn't there. Come to class, Billy had said.

Not a bad idea, Joey had thought, but his chest had fluttered panic and Billy had noticed.

Joey sat down on the floor beside one of the two remaining boxes, lifting the wrinkled mass of Billy's old gym shirts off the top. This stuff was _his_. Somebody really had come and taken all of his other stuff, the things Billy hadn't been able to hide or carry. Joey had gone and inspected the triple, and it lay empty, awaiting the cleaners.

 _They'll probably never come_ , Joey told himself, and picked up his notebook, setting it carefully aside on the bed. He was glad not to be writing in it, somehow. If words had _really_ been his only link to Billy, he would've gone nuts by now.

Under that were things he hadn't grabbed, things Billy had preserved even in a rush: his laundry bag, the nun puppet, that set of wind-up clicky teeth off the desk that none of them had wanted to claim, but had turned up an ornament nonetheless. There were a few more books, his music magazines. Joey smoothed the bent cover of the one on top; it had fallen off the top bunk in their rush to get out of there the other night.

Joey folded it back to the guitar piece he'd been sight-reading, realizing what he'd lost.

"Fuck," he said, tossing the magazine on the floor. Billy hadn't grabbed the case. It hadn't been with the stuff he'd arranged in the closet once Billy's clothes were hung up, and like an idiot he hadn't thought to check the old room for it when he'd snooped.

Joey sat with his chin in his hand, almost wishing he could cry.

The rest of the contents of the box didn't hold much charm for him, even if he would've missed this particular sketching pencil or that particular cassette tape. He dropped the pencil and the hard plastic case back in, rummaging down to the bottom with a glare. Unexpectedly, his fingers tangled with something, hard stone and metal linked together.

He hadn't known Billy knew he had this at school, or where he hid it.

Joey pulled the rosary up and draped it across the back of his hand, trying to untangle the beads. It had been his gift from Uncle Begni at First Communion, though his mother had told him that they'd been given it shortly after his birth. Begni had been to the Vatican.

Unassuming thing, really, and completely worthless from an aesthetic standpoint. Joey touched the crucifix and turned it over, fingered _ROMA_ stamped into the soft, .925 silver. He'd learned to pray the rosary just like anybody, but he'd never made a habit of it. He could remember carrying it in his pocket to church, just leaving it there.

His mother had kept hers in her purse; the beads had been faceted blue crystal.

Joey sighed and unwound it carefully, glancing around the room. He sure as hell didn't have anything to pray for, what with sitting where he was and being perfectly okay with it, at least last time he'd checked with himself. Near as he could figure, Earth was Purgatory. He wasn't sure he bought his own theory of not wanting to leave.

"There has to be something," he said, contemplating the cross again.

_There wasn't anything funny about that kind of sacrifice._

"No," he said, agreeing. He'd thought of that in the cathedral in New Orleans, and it had shaken him. Death was something you were aware of, but you didn't _dwell_ on it.

_There wasn't anything funny about blood._

Tight-lipped, Joey got up and let the rosary swing loose in his grasp, walking up to the bed. He hung it on one of the posts at the foot, watching it vibrate for a few seconds, then fall still against the plain, blocky wood. Pale, splintered, unstained.

He hadn't even had that. What he had had was metal and stone.

"Fuck you," Joey said, and snatched the rosary up again, winding it tightly around his hand. "Didn't ask you to make the comparison," he said angrily, knowing _he'd_ made it.

If he really was there because he'd sworn too much, he was going to laugh his ass off.

"You're not as quiet as you think," Billy said at the same moment he opened the door.

"Jesus _fuck_ ," Joey gasped, dropping the beads on the floor.

"Sorry," Billy said, crossing over to set his backpack down beside the bed, "but you asked for it. Here." He came over to Joey, bent down, and picked up the rosary, offering it back. "Lost something," he added, pressing it into Joey's hand.

"Nah," Joey said, pushing it back at him. "You carry it. I don't think a rosary wandering around the school would get such a warm welcome, you know?"

Billy stared at it for a couple of seconds, then shrugged and put it in his pocket.

"Okay."

"I can't remember if they gave me Last Rites," Joey explained, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Better to let Billy know what he was thinking than have Billy pry it up.

Billy sat down beside him, thoughtful. "Don't they do that for everybody?" he asked, and Joey could tell he was choosing his words carefully. Certain definitions of everybody.

"I mean, I can't imagine Dad would have let…that they wouldn't have," Joey said, shoving thoughts of what he'd seen that day in the cemetary as far off as he could.

"They probably did," Billy said, sounding like he wasn't sure, but reassuring anyway.

"Yeah," Joey said, nodding at the floor, leaning into Billy's arm as it came around his shoulders. "I just…can't figure…"

"You mean if they'd done it, you think you wouldn't be here?"

"Yes," Joey said. "No. Maybe. They didn't cover this in CCD."

"I remember that," Billy said. "It had a special bus at my elementary school."

Joey clapped a hand over his mouth. Fuck, he shouldn't find that funny.

"Just did ours right there, since it was a private Catholic school anyway."

"School sucks no matter what," Billy said, leaning to kiss Joey's forehead. "You hungry?"

"No," Joey said automatically, then wondered if he should smack Billy or not.

"Fuck," Billy was already saying under his breath. "Fuck, _fuck_. Sorry."

"Not like I need to sleep either," Joey said softly. "What the hell are you _doing_ here, anyway?"

"Lunch break," Billy said, nodding matter-of-factly.

"You usually eat on lunch break," Joey said, knowing this was going to end up as circuitous as half their other conversations anyway. Death changed shit? Yeah right.

"Not hungry," Billy said, nuzzling Joey's cheek.

"Right," Joey said, sighing as he leaned against Billy's shoulder.

 

* * *

 

On Friday evening, in the middle of arguing with Joey over the English paper, which was now due Monday, there was a brusque, business-like knock at the door. Billy froze.

"That's not Snuffy," Joey whispered, retreating to the desk chair, gripping the arms. "Answer!"

"Uh, yeah?" Billy called, spreading his arms at Joey. _Happy?_

"Mr. Tepper?" Parker asked, tapping again.

"I'm here!" Billy shouted this time, but he didn't feel like moving.

Joey shifted in the desk chair, looking nervous.

Billy walked over and hesitantly opened the door, peering out. Parker was standing there with his hands on his hips, so fucking patient, but he looked as if whatever was on his mind wasn't a smiling matter. Billy swallowed and opened the door a bit further.

"Thanks," Parker said, but he didn't make any move to come inside. "May I have a word with you?"

"Here?" Billy asked, glancing over his shoulder. Joey was staring at Parker with wide eyes, chewing his lip as if he was afraid Parker could somehow see him.

"No," Parker said, flinching a bit as he let his arms relax. "In my office, after dinner."

Billy glanced at the alarm clock. It was almost four-thirty. Joey was looking at it, too, looking at it like he was brainstorming or remembering something, then looked at Parker.

"What do you want?" he said slowly, clearly, eyes boring holes straight ahead.

"Why?" Billy asked, folding his arms across his chest.

"I'm sure you can guess," Parker said, shaking his head, starting to turn. "I'd get something to eat if I were you."

Billy watched him leave, closing the door once he'd turned the corner.

"This is my fault," Joey said, rising from the chair. He looked troubled.

"What do you mean it's your fault? Did you prank him or something?"

"No," Joey said, "but I'm sure if I wasn't here, you wouldn't be missing classes."

"If you weren't here," Billy said, gritting his teeth, "I'd probably be missing all of them."

Joey's glare hardened. "I don't know what the fuck you were thinking," he said, "but you're fucking lucky you're not thinking it anymore."

Billy walked over to his tennis shoes and forced his feet into them. Why should he argue? He'd thought about killing himself. Fact. That simple. That it should bug somebody dead was somehow irritating beyond belief, and he wanted to let Joey know.

"What would _you_ have done?"

The question hung for a split second, caught on Joey's disbelieving stare before it dropped and shattered with a sharp, hissing exhalation strange enough to startle him.

"Don't ask me that," Joey said, punctuating each word. "It's not fair."

"Why?" Billy asked, tying his shoes, then straightening up. "Seriously, it could have happened and you know it. I'm sick of hiding from everything. What would you—"

"I wouldn't have had to kill _myself_ ," Joey said acidly. "In fact, I don't think that was ever really an option, you know?" Oh, great, now he was being sarcastic.

"I'm gonna get dinner," Billy said, struggling to keep calm, "and then I'm gonna go see Parker. If he kicks me out, at least I won't have to worry about not being able to take you with me."

Joey flew at him with a snarl, quick as a cobra.

"Fuck you, I'm not just some fucking piece of luggage you can—"

"Ow! _Joey_!"

Slammed flat against the door, wrists pinned above his head by fingers that shouldn't by any logic be able to do that, nails digging into his wrists in tight lines, a gash for each.

"Don't think," Joey said, each word harsh and stirring the air between them, "this was a sure thing. Don't you fucking _dare_ take for granted that I'm standing here."

Fuck his back. Billy felt the bricks drop on his head, like the whole room was crumbling.

"I don't," he whispered, fighting tears. "I _don't_ , okay?"

Joey let go of him as quickly as he'd lashed out, shaking almost like he'd caught a chill.

"You forgot the guitar."

"Oh, Jesus _fuck_ , is that what this is about?" Billy groaned, staggering away from the door. "Joey, you've gotta work on telling me what you're mad about. I'll go nuts."

Joey was staring at the floor, fingers twisted together in front of him, still taking breaths that sounded louder in the room than Billy had ever noticed before, trembling hard.

"I need some time alone," he said with some difficulty, not looking up.

Billy wanted to reach for him, touch him, _something_ , but that wasn't an option.

"I'm going to dinner," he repeated, feeling completely lost, and left.

The food was just as bad as it had ever been, Billy was noticing, maybe more so, and he was starting to understand why Joey had hardly ever touched _any_ of it. The time on pots and pans had probably helped. So fucking glad he didn't have to do _that_.

Snuffy was there with Ric, and Billy sat down with them, but refused to give more than one-word answers to their increasingly stupid questions. Didn't they have eyes?

Parker's door was open a crack, waiting for him.

"Please, sit down," Parker said, much kinder than the last time they'd done this.

Billy nodded and sat down in the armchair, folding his hands in his lap. Nothing was going to prevent this from being painful and possibly catastrophic, that was for sure.

"Harold Oger has brought it to my attention," Parker began stiffly, leaning forward to grasp his mug on the table, "that you have either missed or been late for his class every morning this week, and that the former has happened more frequently than the latter."

"I'm sorry," Billy said automatically, staring at his shoes.

"Well, aren't you going to explain it to me?" Parker said patiently. "Given the circumstances," he continued, almost hesitant, "I'm more than willing to listen."

Billy looked up, startled.

"Sir?"

Parker just _looked_ at him, obviously waiting.

"Haven't been sleeping," Billy muttered, lowering his eyes again.

"That's to be expected," Parker said carefully. "I'm glad to know you're at least eating."

"What, have you got the guys reporting on me?"

"To be frank with you, yes."

Billy nodded at the rug, fighting the impulse to laugh.

"You'll have to bear with me," Parker said, sounding less and less like himself by the minute. "I'm not sure how to approach this, and I'm asking for your cooperation."

What the _fuck_? Billy sat up straight, leaning back in the chair.

"I don't understand," he said lamely, starting to get the gist of where this was going.

"Billy, I think you should consider counseling," Parker said. "I can't lie to you, either."

Whoa, that was fucking _blunt_. Billy hadn't been expecting that.

"But what about the other—"

"For one very, _very_ specific reason," Parker said, his tone hardening and gentling at the same time, "on which I will not elaborate, but you need to understand I'm aware of."

Way to drop a fucking _bomb_. Billy's stomach clenched worse than it had since the funeral, worse even than after that stunt with the vodka. Oh, _shit_ , the vodka.

"Trash can's by my desk," Parker said, pointing.

"Don't need it," Billy croaked, doubled over his knees. "Just… _fuck_."

There was a hand on his shoulder, then, one moment soothing, the next drawing him up.

"I think you should consider counseling," Parker said, stooping down to the floor, hand still on Billy's shoulder, squeezing ever so slightly. "I may not know exactly what it's like," he said, again hesitating over his words, "but I understand that it's hard."

Billy choked out a laugh, lifting one hand to his cheek, finding tears.

"Yeah, it's, um…something else, let me tell you."

Parker just nodded and gave his shoulder another squeeze, then let go and got up again.

"I'm not going to push the issue now," he said, "because it really has nothing to do with this, but I'd like to talk to you again soon about graduation and college applications."

"Shit," Billy said, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "I haven't—"

"You have time," Parker said. "Not that much, but time nonetheless."

College, he'd just lost—gotten back— _rediscovered_ Joey, and Parker was worried about fucking college? Fuck that. He'd be lucky if he graduated anyway, what with—

"Promise me you'll make an effort to get to class," Parker said.

"I am," Billy said. "I've only missed English."

"You should be getting to bed earlier, then. You've lost a lot of sleep."

"No shit," Billy said, rubbing his nose. Fucking stupid…

"That's the last time I'll let your language slip, understood?"

"Yes, sir," Billy sighed.

"Good. Now, look, this is about getting you well again, or as well as we can get you. Would you _consider_ talking to one of the chaplains?"

"What, we don't have a shrink or something?"

"Not in a situation like this," Parker admitted. "If you'd rather I talked to your parents about finding—"

"I'll talk to Father Green," Billy said, partly because he'd heard Reverend Marcus was a flake and partly because it just seemed logical that he ought to talk to a Catholic.

"All right," Parker said. "The office hours are all posted on the chapel bulletin board. You know where to find them."

Billy stared at him.

"What, you're not gonna set up the appointment for me?"

"I can't do that, Billy," Parker said. "All I can do is tell you we're here for you."

There it went, _snap_. Tears again, burning his eyes and spilling over.

"Yeah, um," Billy said, standing up hastily, "thanks."

He didn't quite hear what Parker was saying as he hurried out, but it didn't fucking matter. Parker knew, he'd fucking _known_ all along, how could he have been that stupid? And if Parker knew, Jesus, who _else_ had been able to read them like an open book? Joey was going to freak. No, wait. Maybe not. Joey was all zen now, or at least he was zen over the fact he was fucking _dead_ , but he could still flip out over a stupid fucking—

"Billy!" Parker's voice echoed in the hall, and there were footsteps behind him.

Billy just stopped and took a deep breath, sniffling, but it was no use, his nose was running all over and he'd probably pass somebody he knew on the way back to the room and there would be rumors about how Billy Tepper couldn't just suck it up and then they'd know for _sure_ , just like the administration, that he and Joey'd been… _were_ …

"You forgot something," Parker said, holding it out to him.

Billy blinked at the guitar case stupidly.

"What?"

"This was left under the bed. Mr. Trotta's man missed it. Janitorial staff couldn't go in till everything was clear, so I retrieved it. If you'd rather—"

"No," Billy said, snatching it away quickly, hearing Parker's pained hiss of breath as the tug stretched his arm for a moment and it dropped back again. "No, I'll take it."

"I thought you would," Parker said, and turned back again, shoulders sagging.

Billy clutched the instrument to his chest the whole way back to the room, glad to have something to hide his face. He passed some freshmen in the main corridor, but they seemed to have better things to do than wonder why Billy Tepper was carrying around a guitar case. In fact, they'd all had better things to do than to wonder about him.

That was it, wasn't it? People _didn't_ wonder. They just knew.

When he opened the door and stepped into his room, Joey was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, an open book draped across his chest. It looked like one from the library.

"Hey," Billy said, trying not to sound like he'd cried the whole way there.

Joey looked up at him, and a split second later, he was on his feet and the book was in a heap of bent, skewed pages on the floor. He stared at Billy, then the guitar case, then back at Billy again, confusion and shame and elation coloring his face like life.

"How the hell…"

"They didn't look under the bed," Billy said, holding the case out in front of him, a peace offering that he hadn't planned but that just _was_ , and he wouldn't question anything from then on. He'd talk to the priest. Fuck, he'd start to _pray_.

Joey stared hard at the case until Billy thought the handle would burn to pieces in his hand. When it didn't and Joey didn't come forward to take it, he set it down carefully against the wall and shut the door behind him. One step, two, then three.

He'd close the space, whatever it would take.

"I'm sorry," Joey was whispering against his shoulder, fingers wound tight in the back of Billy's shirt, grabbing desperately at his collar, his hair, his arms. "I'm _so_ —"

"Joeylove," Billy murmured. " _Shhh_."

The wonder was that Joey cried real tears that tasted of salt, left dried tracks on Billy's skin long after Joey'd gone to sleep in his arms, not a stitch between them but his breath.

 

* * *

 

Just when things couldn't get any worse, Joey thought, they were getting so much better that he almost couldn't stand it. Billy didn't answer the door for two days straight, though he got about five knocks that were all identifiable as Snuffy, and fuck, it was Saturday and Sunday and had they really not bothered to do this since Thanksgiving last year? Fucking unbelievable. Even on the Cape they hadn't just gone to bed for _days_.

On Monday morning, Billy's alarm clock went off at seven-thirty. He slipped out of bed with a mumbled apology and a kiss that made Joey's skin tingle. His _skin_.

Once Billy had gone, he'd made the covers collapse through himself just to prove that there wasn't something really fucked up going on beyond the fact that obviously there _was_ something fucked up about the way the rules worked when Billy touched him. Then, it occurred to him Billy'd never had much respect for rules in the first place.

Joey hadn't been able to stop laughing for an hour. Made so much sense it was ridiculous, and fucking simple, and why hadn't he realized that sooner?

Pranks. Pranks were a really good idea, and suddenly, he couldn't stop thinking about what he could _do_ like this. Shit, he could do stuff now that Parker wouldn't be able to trace back to _anybody_. The possibilities were beyond endless.

On the first day of October, Billy came back from class with Ric trailing behind him. Joey had been reading at the desk, still working his way through all the books he'd bought in the past year that he hadn't actually had time to read (H.D. was a fucking _amazing_ poet, imagistic, and he felt stupid for not having read her sooner). He looked up at Billy, silent greeting (Billy was getting better at not responding to him when people were around, and Joey was getting better at holding his tongue), and gave Ric a questioning look. He'd by and large been avoiding the others; it hurt not to be noticed.

"You've gotta listen to me," Ric was saying. He dropped his backpack beside Billy's, rubbing his arms the whole way up and under his sleeves. "I swear something's there."

"I can't feel anything," Billy said, sitting down on the bed. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"I don't know," Ric admitted, sitting down on the floor, knees drawn up. "I just thought, maybe…"

"They're really having problems with the gate?" Billy asked, disbelieving.

"Yeah, man," Ric said, staring darkly at the floor. "It's fucking weird."

Joey realized with shock that he hadn't been outside since his walk with Billy.

"It…what, just…closes?"

"The new guard says every it swings shut before he can actually get out there to shut and lock it himself. He started doing it at nine-thirty instead of ten, just so it wouldn't do it, you know? But then the gate started closing by itself at nine-thirty instead, and the guy thinks he's losing his mind."

"Has anybody else seen this?" Billy asked, then flat-out looked at Joey as if to say, _Are you doing this?_

"Not me, I swear," Joey said soberly, glancing down at Ric. The guy was so pale and nervous-looking that it was ridiculous. God, if he'd just open his eyes. Or get drunk.

"The guy quit today," Ric said. "That's the rumor."

Billy's eyes lit up, thoughtful.

"Then nobody's probably going to be out there at the gate tonight, right?"

"Don't know," Ric said. "I bet Parker will close it himself, if he can do it before _it_ does it."

"Let's go watch," Billy suggested, glancing at Joey again, almost mischievous.

"I told Frank to go home," Joey reminded him. "That guy has worse problems than I thought, if he has nothing better to do than keep fucking with the gate."

Billy opened his mouth, then closed it again, and looked back at Ric.

"What d'you think?"

"I think you're fucking crazy," Ric said honestly.

"But you wanna see," Billy pried. "Admit it."

"And piss myself like Snuffy? No thanks," Ric said.

"Oh, come _on_." Billy was giving him a pathetic look now, begging.

"Fuck it," Joey said, rising from the chair. He walked to where Ric was sitting and knelt down beside him, hands braced on his knees. He'd have to be careful about this. " _Ric_."

Ric's eyes darted sideways, then back to Billy.

"Um, did you—"

"Hearing things?" Billy asked bluntly, giving Ric that fess-up-or-else look that he saved for pretty rare occasions when somebody decided to be obtuse with him.

Ric glared at him and said, "Yes."

"Good," Billy said. "So am I. So, are we on for tonight, or what?"

"Fuck you, I _knew_ it," Ric said, jabbing a finger at him. "I knew you were just playing dumb shit with me, ever since the fucking funeral you've been—"

"Don't push it," Billy said, voice cold and clipped. "Nine o'clock, front stairs."

Ric blanched, hugging his knees tighter.

"Was that really necessary?" Joey asked, looking up at Billy. Fuck it, fuck it _all_. He put a hand on Ric's shoulder, rubbing tentatively.

Ric's spine went rigid.

"Billy," he said, breathing turned shallow, "Billy, I think…"

"You think what?" Billy asked, way too calm, looking Joey straight in the eyes. _Double dare you_.

"Somebody's touching me," Ric croaked. "Somebody's—"

Joey pulled his hand away. That wasn't a prank; that was just _cruel_.

Billy sighed, let down, and shrugged.

"You never know, I guess."

"You asshole," Joey said, standing up. "You're just gonna play him like this?"

Billy glanced up at him sharply, making a frustrated gesture.

"What the hell do you _expect_ me to do, huh? Tell him—"

"Shut up!" Joey shouted, stunning him into silence because there was no way Billy was going to shut up otherwise, and the last thing Ric needed was Billy talking to thin air.

"Billy…" Ric's voice was soft, terrified. "Billy, are you…"

"I'm fine," Billy said, rubbing his eyes. "Tired."

"I don't think this is such a good idea," Ric said, getting up slowly.

"I think we have to," Billy said, looking at Joey again. Different _we_.

"Yeah," Joey said. "Frank's probably pissed off as hell by now."

Billy nodded, quickly glancing at the floor.

"Billy?" Ric asked, lost, looking for a line, anything.

"We're gonna do it," Billy said decisively. "You want to know, right?"

"More than anything," Ric said under his breath. "Yeah. Okay. Wanna tell the other guys?"

"No," Billy said in perfect unison with Joey.

"Right," Ric said, going over to fetch his backpack. "Nine. Stairs."

When he was gone, Joey sat down beside Billy on the bed and leaned over to kiss him.

"It's okay," he said quietly. "I shouldn't have done that. My fault."

"I hate it that they don't see you," Billy whispered, head in hands.

"Ric hears me, I think," Joey said. "The problem is, he doesn't _want_ to, but part of him, like…can't _help_ it, I guess, like all that shit he said in New Orleans is true."

"It's all true," Billy said, choking on sudden laughter. "And there's also a God."

"Well, yeah," Joey said. "I'm just not sure God's playing with a full deck. It missed some shit, left some loopholes, you know?"

"It?"

"Yeah," Joey said. "Fifty-fifty chance on gender's logical, isn't it?"

"Heretic," Billy said, and kissed him back.

That evening, they waited on the steps for fifteen minutes before Ric showed up. It was cool and dark, daylight savings approaching fast, and Joey realized it wasn't so hard to be there anymore, especially not with Billy beside him. They sat on the top step, staring down at the path. Joey had always thought that the water fountain should be a sundial.

"Maybe it was," Billy said. "I mean, that concrete foundation looks kinda old."

"Maybe," Joey said, scuffing the next step down with the toe of his shoe. There wasn't a trace of blood anywhere. For a split second, he wished he could remember more, but every time the tried, the first shards of pain slipped free like a knife from his chest.

"I didn't even think about it," Billy admitted. "Shouldn't have told him to meet us here."

"Where else?" Joey asked, finally looking up. He could see the gate, and it was open.

The doors opened behind them, and there was familiar panting, Ric out of breath.

"Sorry," he said, coming up behind Billy, hands on his hips. "I was asleep."

"That's the worst lie I've ever heard," Joey said.

Billy ignored him. "So," he said, standing up, giving Ric's shoulder a bracing squeeze. "Ready?"

"Yeah," Ric said, squinting into the dusk. "Where are we gonna hide, anyway?"

"Inside," Joey said. "You don't wanna get locked out."

"Inside. We don't wanna get locked out."

"There aren't any bushes along the wall," Ric said glumly, sitting down beside Billy. "And if we hang around here, Gould and Parker will see us when they make the rounds."

"That's probably when Parker'll close the gate," Billy said thoughtfully. "We could—"

"Billy," Joey said, suddenly realizing, "the best view's from _here_."

Billy gave him a frustrated look. _What the fuck do you want me to do about it?_

"Dumbass," Joey said, getting up and walking over to the railing. He pointed down and under, giving Billy a meaningful look. "One of you at each side, see?"

"Got it," Billy said without hesitation, reaching for Ric again. "I've got it. Under there. We'll be out of sight when they go by, and then we can each peek out one side!"

Ric blinked, then gave him a slow nod.

"Wouldn't have thought of that," he said.

"Thanks," Joey replied.

"Who said—"

"Shhh," Billy said hastily, tugging on Ric's sleeve, drawing him down the steps. "Let's go. We don't have that much time." Billy glanced over his shoulder, giving Joey a look.

"I'm going out there," Joey said, running ahead of them, slowing down when he reached the water fountain. "Gotta see if it's Frank. I can get close, you can't."

Billy swore under his breath, and Ric gave him a quizzical look.

"Never mind," he said, shoving Ric ahead of him down into the basement stairwell.

Joey turned and kept walking. This was probably going to be really redundant and really frustrating, and Billy was going to be able to see him across the distance, but Billy probably wouldn't be able to see Frank. He wondered about _those_ rules now, and he wondered what it would take for Ric to notice something that wasn't directed specifically _at_ him.

When Joey got to the gate, he could see there was somebody in the guard booth.

"Hey," Joey called, walking just a bit past the brick pillar. "Mr. Ingram?"

"You're not supposed to be out here," the guard said in a voice more frightening than Joey had ever thought possible for such a fucking harmless person to use.

Joey swallowed.

"I, um, heard you were back around," Joey said lamely. _Fuck_.

"I don't know what the hell is going on around here, but you seem to know more than you should," Frank said, tone cold as ice. He still hadn't come out of the booth. Joey was afraid what would happen when he did. This was like crouching outside a lion's den.

"I'm not sure you'd believe me," Joey admitted, sticking his hands in his pockets. "See, it…just affects you and me. Nobody else."

Harsh, bitter laughter, wrenched up out of a place it wasn't used to living.

"I'd say it affects everybody, seeing as they've all gone deaf."

"Not me," Joey said. "I'm not blind, either."

"Like I said, you know too much."

"Frank, would you come out of there for just a second?" Joey asked, exasperated.

There was dead silence, then a sharp, offended intake of breath, and the chair in the guard booth creaked. Frank stepped out into the open, red-eyed and disheveled. Jesus. Was memory acting on him, too, though he really had no fucking idea what he was doing?

"What did you call me?" he asked, his voice more strained than angry.

"Frank," Joey said. "Look, we all call you Frank, what's so weird about that?"

"You're always careful," he said, blinking at Joey in confusion, "and formal."

"I'm under a lot of pressure at the moment," Joey said, hoping that was vague enough. "I wasn't thinking. Sorry."

"Happens to the best of us," Frank muttered, and glanced at his watch. "Well, I've got to be closing—"

"Lights out, boys!"

"Eat shit, Mr. Peterson!"

"—the gate," Frank sighed heavily, and started for the heavy iron door even as Parker was coming straight at them, the whites of his eyes startling against his skin, against the darkness. For a second, Joey was unreasonably afraid that he, too, might hear them.

Frank took hold of the gate, starting to walk it shut. It cut a wide arc just in front of Parker, who froze, narrowly missed by the door's trajectory, jaw slackening slightly as Frank tugged it into place and held it while he rummaged the keys up from his belt and then locked it. Joey stood watching, mesmerized, wondering if all Parker heard was the metallic _clink_ from inside the mechanism, the gate locking itself for the night.

Frank re-attached the keys to his belt and brushed his hands off, sighing wearily. "They don't seem to be happy with me," he confessed, staring at the ground.

Parker was still standing there, staring, his jaw so tight it hurt to look at him.

"I think," Joey said tentatively, "that they're just sort of confused."

"Son, _I'm_ confused," Frank said, and the depraved laugh came back.

Enough of this _shit_.

"Frank," Joey said, watching Parker approach the gate out of the corner of his eye, "you're dead."

Frank just stared at him.

"I _beg_ your pardon?"

Joey shrugged, watching Parker touch the iron bars and run his fingers over the lock.

"I'm dead, too. Is that clear enough, or do I have to spell it out in spray-paint?"

Frank closed his eyes and tilted his head to one side, shaking.

"I'd rather not—"

"Frank." Joey took a step toward him, hand extended. "It's okay. You've gotta know."

"I do," Frank whispered.

"So why're you still—"

" _I'm afraid_."

Joey nodded, not sure he could argue with that. He waited till Frank opened his eyes again, looking up at him with glazed, tired eyes. Parker was still investigating the gate, down on his hands and knees now, running his hand along the bottom. It would've been funny, except Joey had before him a guy whose denial was crumbling fast to dust.

"You should go," Joey said gently.

"Why are _you_ here?" Frank asked, unexpectedly candid.

"Because somebody else will die if I leave," Joey said.

"Who'll keep them safe?" Frank asked, voice on the verge of breaking. "Who'll…"

"The new guy will," Joey said, finally closing the space between them, touching Frank's arm. "They're gonna get another guy who won't be a fucking wuss like the other one, somebody as brave as you, and he'll keep everybody safe."

"I couldn't even do that," Frank said, devastated. He started to cry.

"You could," Joey said, shaking him gently. "You did. You _tried_."

"I should've killed him," Frank said, staring blindly at something over Joey's shoulder. "I—"

"There's no time for that," Joey said, watching Parker get up and brush himself off and turn from the gate with an exasperated exhalation. Puzzled, shocked, what did it matter.

"No," Frank said, shaking his head, biting his lip bitterly. "Too late."

"It's not too late for you to get out of here, all right?"

"I told you," he said. "I'm afraid."

"I think you're more afraid of staying here," Joey said, hoping his bluff was true.

Frank sighed heavily, nodding.

"Show me the way?" he asked softly.

Joey shook his head, letting go of him.

"I don't know it. I don't know what it is."

"How do you know you're here because…"

"If you don't want to go," Joey said, looking for some alternative, _any_ alternative, "then just…shit, go _home_ , okay? Didn't I tell you to do that anyway?"

"She doesn't see me," Frank said quietly.

"I'm sorry," Joey said, "but I don't know what to tell you."

"Does anybody see you?" Frank asked, eyes lighting with hope.

Joey started to say _yes_ , then bit his tongue.

"Only one person," he said carefully, "and he wouldn't be able to help you."

"Oh," Frank said softly, and his mouth curved into a smile. "Yeah, he'd die without you all right. You go on, then. He's got enough trouble, hasn't he?"

Joey's heartbeat flared out of nothing, shaking him with recollection.

"Yeah," Joey said, grinning in spite of it all. "But _he_ never thinks so."

"You should be getting inside," Frank said sternly, straightening up. "Past your bedtime."

Joey nodded, turning for the gate. "You gonna be all right?" he asked.

"Sooner or later," Frank said, gazing through the bars and up at the clock. "I've just got to get out of this place, that's all. Guess I should consider early retirement."

"That's a good idea," Joey said, stepping through the bars and looking back at him. "You take care, all right?"

" _You_ take care," Frank said, extending his hand in between.

Joey met him halfway and shook it, then let go and waved.

"You're all right," Frank said, turning in the opposite direction, murmuring to himself as he walked off into the dark. "I always thought you were."

Joey watched until he couldn't tell Frank's shape from anything else, and started back up the drive. The gravel crunched under his feet, almost taunting.

"Shut the fuck up," he said under his breath, and kicked a large stone several feet ahead of him. "It's not time. Maybe I missed my chance, but it's _not_ fucking—"

"Oh, holy _shit_ ," said a voice somewhere ahead of him, and Joey froze, staring.

Ric was standing on the path, just past the water fountain, and Billy was a few steps behind him, hands shoved in his pockets, looking at Joey with eyes so somber that Joey wondered what the fuck the two of them had seen from hiding.

" _Shit_ ," Ric said again, backing up a step.

"Look," Billy said, "you were the one fucking curious, so we—"

Ric crossed himself, stumbling back a few steps, narrowly missing Billy.

"Ric, what the _fuck_ —"

"There's—Billy—I said—"

"Yeah, you said you saw Frank, I _know_ that, but—"

"Fuck," Joey said.

" _Joey_ ," Ric said, looking him straight in the eye, clutching at Billy's arm.

Billy blinked at Joey, then at Ric, then back at Joey again, realization dawning on him like somebody had just slapped him in the face really, really hard.

"Ric, do you mean to tell me…"

"Fuck," Ric repeated, still walking backwards, trying to drag Billy with him. "Holy _fuck_ —"

"Would you please calm down?" Joey asked, convincing his feet to move again, even though calm was the last fucking thing he was, because _fuck_ , Ric was hysterical.

"Billy, we've gotta get _out_ of here _now_!"

"No," Billy said, finally grabbing hold of Ric's arm, shaking him. "Shut the hell up, would you? He just asked you a goddamned question."

Ric stared at Billy, terrified, then back at Joey.

"You mean…"

"Ric, he sees me, all right?" Joey asked, spreading his hands. "What do you want me to do, just leave him alone or something? Does it look to you like he fucking _minds_?"

"No _way_ ," Ric whispered, grabbing Billy's hand on him and trying desperately to dislodge it. "Let go of me. Let me _go_!"

"Ric, look, he's not—"

"Can't handle this," Ric said, his voice rising, and tore free of Billy's grasp with more strength than Joey'd ever seen in him on the soccer field, and _ran_.

"Jesus Christ," Joey said, watching him trip up the stairs, then struggle with the doors and dash inside, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like prayers.

"Yeah," Billy sighed, flexing his hand. "Well, no broken bones, looks like."

"I guess this means we've got one more thing to worry about," Joey said pensively, stepping up beside him. "Let me see it," he said, reaching for Billy's hand.

"Fucker about cracked it," Billy said, tensing as Joey massaged the tendons between his thumb and forefinger, ran his fingers over every knuckle.

"It's late," Joey said. "We should go inside."

"What were you saying to him?" Billy asked as they walked up the stairs.

"You heard me?"

"Saw him," Billy said quietly, stepping up to open the doors.

"No way," Joey said, then realized he wasn't lying. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Billy said, letting Joey go first. "And let me tell you, I've gone by there I don't know how many times since we've come back, and I never…"

"You break rules," Joey said, and took his hand again as the door slammed shut behind them.

 

* * *

 

The chapel was empty when Billy got there, or at least it _felt_ empty. He strolled up to the front of the sanctuary, hands tucked in his pockets. The floor was made of wood, worn and polished over decade after decade, and the altar wasn't really an altar. It was more like a slightly raised stage with more pews for the choir, which was tiny and pathetic and he'd never understood why Joey didn't sing in it, and there was the podium.

Billy stepped up on the platform and studied the stained glass. It wasn't spectacular like the church in New Orleans had been spectacular, but he had a new respect for the stuff.

"I'm late," said an unfamiliar voice, shattering the silence. "I hope you'll pardon me."

Billy turned around and faced the back. Father Green was standing in the aisle, half smiling, one hand on the back of the nearest pew. He looked like the kind of guy who'd either stay up all night thinking of something to say for the next day's service or somebody who could say anything amazing right off the cuff. Couldn't tell which.

"It's okay," Billy said, stepping back down to the floor and starting back the aisle again. "I got here early. Don't spend much time in this building, y'know? I forgot it's peaceful."

"It is," the priest said, still smiling in a way that was both foreign and reassuring. "James Green," he said, extending a hand to Billy. "I'd prefer it if you just called me Father Jim."

Billy took his hand and shook it briefly, then let go. Even the guy's touch was disarming.

"William Tepper—uh, Billy."

"Pleasure to meet you," Father Jim said. "Have a seat. I thought we might just talk. I don't like formalities; they make me nervous."

Billy had to grin at that. The guy seemed as far from nervous as it was possible to be.

"I had heard you weren't smiling, but I can see that isn't the case."

"Maybe not a few weeks ago," Billy admitted, staring at the hymnal holder in front of him. "Pretty rough there for a while, I have to tell you."

"First of all, I'd like to make one thing very clear: you don't _have_ to tell me anything. Only what you want to tell me, understood?"

"Yeah," Billy said. "Believe me, if I didn't, I wouldn't."

Father Jim looked at him, long and considering, then nodded.

"Are there any concerns outright that I ought to be aware of?"

Billy thought about this for a second, but the only thing he could think of was that he hadn't told Joey he was doing this. After the episode with Ric a week ago, things had been kind of strained amongst all of them as a group. Ric was hardly speaking to Billy, and Billy was trying his best to avoid Snuffy, who attached himself leech-like every chance he got. It was enough to drive Billy fucking nuts and just Snuffy what the hell was up already, except Hank was continuing to be this weird, stable sort of protective, especially when it came to Snuffy. It was as if Billy's returning ability to function was slowly unraveling the rest of them, like they had no fucking clue what to _do_ now.

He told all of this to Father Jim, who didn't seem to mind frustrated rambling. Everything except for the part about Joey, anyway. He was sure he didn't want to tell a priest he was seeing a ghost. Two ghosts, even, though Joey was sure Frank was gone.

"This might sound like a foolish suggestion, but have you tried _talking_ to all of them?" Father Jim asked, still perfectly calm. "They may need to hear that _you're_ there for them. From what you've said—and I don't mean this to sound critical of _you_ —they seem to have taken it upon themselves to do all the keeping."

"No, be critical all you want," Billy heard himself say, curiously detached. "I guess I _have_ kind of had my head…um…been pretty self-centered lately."

"As have they," the priest said patiently. "I feel that, more than anything you should speak with them, _really_ speak with them. Listen to them. I'm sure that they're willing to listen to you, too. I've been told friendships like yours are hard to come by."

Billy lowered his eyes, sighing. "I don't know about that. We just…"

"There are some things," Father Jim said carefully, setting a hand on his shoulder, "that you need not feel ashamed of taking pride in."

Billy shook his head.

"I'm not proud right now, that's the thing."

"Ask and ye shall receive. Reach to them," said the priest, and patted Billy's shoulder before rising. "You're stronger than you feel right now, Billy. I guarantee it."

"Thanks," Billy said, looking up at him. "I hope so."

"When you're ready to talk again, you know where to find me."

"Is that everything?" Billy asked, rising.

"Is it?" Father Jim asked, wearing the same patient smile as when he'd arrived.

Billy scratched his cheek and said, "Um, you know…yeah. For now, anyway."

"Then I'll leave you to your thoughts, and I'm sure we'll see each other soon."

"Thanks," Billy said, offering his hand.

"My pleasure," said the priest. He shook Billy's hand, then left.

Once he was alone, Billy sat back down and wondered if they were making a conscious effort in seminary nowadays to train cool clergy, because Father Jim was really all right.

And _right_.

 

* * *

 

Joey hadn't meant to spy, but the entire scene unfolding was a train wreck. He'd followed Billy to the library after dinner and poked around in the stacks while Billy found him once in a while and griped under his breath about having to spend Friday night like _this_. Joey had said he wasn't finding anything interesting, and that Billy wasn't going to get any work done unless he left, so Joey had just put a hand over Billy's mouth, teasingly kissed the back of it, and walked right through the wall. Unnecessary, probably, but he didn't want to go opening the main door and freaking out the librarian.

He'd no sooner emerged from the strange, claustrophobic blur into the hallway when he heard familiar raised voices at the opposite end. He'd steeled himself and followed, prepared for the worst. Hank and Snuffy hadn't room-hopped, so that's where he ended up when he closed his eyes and tried to focus on Snuffy: back in the dormitory, standing right in the middle of their room just in time to watch Hank barge through with Snuffy hot on his heels. Joey stepped out of the way, flattening himself against the wall.

"I already told you, just leave him the fuck alone till he's ready!"

"He doesn't say shit during class or at dinner," Snuffy said angrily, throwing his backpack at his bed, "and he never answers his fucking door. I'm _worried_ , all right?"

"Are we talking about the same person, I wonder?" Hank asked, sitting down on the edge of his own bed, folding his arms across his chest. "I don't know about you, but the Billy I'm talking about has improved a _hell_ of a lot these past few weeks."

Snuffy threw his hands in the air demonstratively and sat down, too.

"Forest for the trees," he retorted, almost accusing. "Yeah, he answers questions and shoots the breeze, but it's what he's _not_ talking about that's the problem, genius."

Hank rubbed his forehead, hunching over so his head was in his hands.

"And you _blame_ him for that? Like any of us actually wanna talk about—"

"It won't just go away, okay?" Snuffy snapped, flinging himself down against his mattress hard enough to bounce. "Trust me, there's a lot of shit he's not dealing with."

"I think there's a lot of shit you're not dealing with," Hank said, untying his shoes. He tossed them across the room, each shoe bouncing off the wall to Joey's right.

"You don't know shit," Joey muttered, walking over to Snuffy's bed, hands on hips, staring down at him. Didn't do any good; Snuffy was deaf as a doornail even when somebody _alive_ was trying to get a significant point across. "He's dealing."

"Oh yeah? Like what?" Snuffy asked the ceiling.

Hank let out a short laugh and swung his legs up onto the bed, lying back just like Snuffy, only with less enthusiasm. He drummed his fingers against his arm, hesitating.

"Like maybe Billy deserves for you to be honest about how you felt about Joey."

Joey blinked at Hank, then stared back down at Snuffy, who had taken a sharp breath and rolled over on his side so his face was half buried in the pillow.

"Fuck you," Snuffy whispered. "That was _ages_ ago."

"Yeah, and you had the balls to bring it up to Billy when you did?" Joey asked, kicking the bedframe before he realized what he was doing. "Fuck _you_ , man."

Snuffy sat up, staring across the room at Hank.

"What the hell was that?"

"Dunno. Neighbors."

"Oh, yeah, like Hulse and Packett fuck hard enough to shake my bedframe through cinderblock," Snuffy retorted, flopping back down again. He hammered the mattress with both hands. "This _sucks_ ," he hissed, and Joey realized he was close to tears.

"Sorry," Joey mumbled, looking down at him, and there was a creak across the room as Hank got up. Joey backed away from the bed as soon as he realized Hank was right across from him. For a split second, it was like looking into his eyes.

Hank glanced down at Snuffy, bringing one foot up to kick his calf.

"Move the hell over."

Snuffy blinked, then rolled over to face Hank.

"What?"

"You heard me," Hank said, and started to climb onto the bed.

"What the _hell_ —"

"I don't know why I argue with you," Hank said, leaning over Snuffy, and kissed him.

"Great," Joey said, covering his eyes. He walked out, not paying attention to what was in his way. If there was anything he _didn't_ want to see, it was Snuffy getting laid.

When Joey got back to the room—alarming how close it was to where he'd just been, just around the corner and at the end of the hall, rendering the radiator code useless—Billy hadn't returned from the library. Joey made sure the door was locked, which was standard procedure now: if he was there alone and wanted to do shit, he locked it so nobody could enter without warning, and Billy would knock to be let in.

Joey tugged the guitar case away from the wall and sat down on the floor. The clasps came undone easily; he was fleetingly glad he hadn't locked it, as he didn't know where the key was, then remembered it didn't matter. He lifted the instrument with care, running his fingers over the strings. They twanged, faintly out of tune. He cringed and let it settle in his arms just as it always had, fiddling with the tuning keys. After a few adjustments, it sounded better, but it was hard to tell because he had to play softly.

"C'mon," he said, plucking each string for good measure. "Wake up."

What he really wanted to do was run one of the covers, or maybe bring out an old song to see if he could remember what he'd written in junior high, but the thought of launching into something full stop made him hesitate with anxiety. If nothing else, you could always hear music through those walls, or at least that's how it had been upstairs.

Just then, Billy knocked.

"Come in," Joey said loudly enough for Billy to hear him. Thank God nobody else could. As for Ric, he'd been avoiding Billy like the plague, and when they were at the same table to eat, Ric hardly looked at him. Phil was starting to look sorry and desperate.

"Locked!" Billy called back, then swore under his breath, adding in a loud whisper, "I mean…"

Joey set the guitar back down in the case, then went over and popped the lock. He stood back so Billy could walk in and close it again, and for a split second, he could see the hall—empty except for a couple of guys passing, but they were busy talking to each other.

"You been playing that?" Billy asked, setting his backpack against the wall, frowning.

"No," Joey said. "Just tuning."

"I'll have to figure out someplace you can play," Billy said, reaching for Joey's hand, tugging him in first by one, then by both. "Can't have everybody thinking I learned."

"Why?" Joey asked, somehow getting used to the fact that being this close to Billy still made it as hard to think as it ever had, if not harder. He squeezed Billy's shoulder.

"Because then they'd ask me to play, and I wouldn't be able to prove it, and I'd have to explain you're so fucking good at it that not even…" Whatever Billy had meant to say to finish, he let it go, leaning in so that their foreheads touched. "You know what I mean."

"Hey, you've gotta talk to Snuffy," Joey said, mind jumping tracks.

"Yeah?" Billy asked, disinterested, kissing the corner of Joey's mouth.

"Yeah," Joey said, swallowing. "I kind of overheard him and Hank today. Not pretty."

"Neither of 'em is," Billy said, lowering his head to nuzzle Joey's neck.

Joey sighed patiently, running his fingers through Billy's hair.

"No, seriously. It's so bad Hank just gave up and made out with him."

"I did _not_ need that mental image," Billy mumbled.

"You'd better talk to him," Joey repeated, deciding it was okay to kiss Billy's ear.

"Later," Billy said, and later sounded very good indeed.

 

* * *

 

The problem with talking to Snuffy was that it implied first hunting him down, then getting him to keep his mouth shut long enough to get a word in edgewise. While the former was easily accomplished, Billy knew that the latter wasn't, especially now. There were, however, detours around this complication, and he knew exactly which to take.

"M'what?" Joey gasped, starting awake.

Billy rubbed his back and tugged him back down, pressing _shhh_ against his cheek. Joey curled in against his chest, sighing. There again, that faint stir of breath.

"Gonna go running," Billy whispered, then kissed Joey's hair and quietly got up.

Unlike a lot of things, Saturday mornings at Regis hadn't really changed. There was still the mass sleeping-in, the hordes of guys wandering around in pajamas all day, the procrastination, the frustrated study sessions at 6 PM in the library. And, like clockwork, there was Hank on the track with his hood up and breath puffing in the early chill.

"Hey!" Billy called, hanging on the gate. He'd put on sweat pants, but he wasn't really dressed to run. He'd shoved his feet into his sneakers without socks, and he was still just in a t-shirt. By ten, it would be warmer, but it was eight, and fall was settling in.

Hank spotted him from the far side and completed his lap, slowing to a stop almost perfectly level with where Billy was standing. He straightened up and whisked his hood back, panting as he stepped up to the chain-link fence, one hand extended in front of him.

"You, man, are up too early," he said. "Everything okay?"

Billy nodded, shaking his hand.

"Yeah, actually. I mean…yeah."

Hank nodded, briefly staring at the ground.

"We've been wondering, I guess."

"I kind of figured," Billy said, meeting Hank's eyes as he looked up again. "And I'm sorry."

"What the hell _for_?" Hank asked, genuinely shocked.

"Um, for coming off like I don't give a rat's ass about how the rest of you are doing."

Hank frowned and reached up, smacking the side of Billy's head lightly.

"What makes you think you come off like that, huh?"

"I don't know," Billy said. "Maybe because Snuffy keeps trying to talk to me, and I keep avoiding him. Because Ric isn't talking to me period, and Phil just gives me weird looks."

"You think that isn't normal after shit like this happens?" Hank asked, wiping his glasses off on his sleeve and hastily shoving them back up the bridge of his nose. "I mean…"

"No, it's not run-of-the-mill, everyday shit, but look, it's been…Christ, a month now, okay? More than a month. I might be full of fucking cracks, but I'm not _broken_."

"Then tell them that," Hank said, clapping Billy on the shoulder. "I knew you were gonna survive as long as we could get you past all that lock-yourself-in-the-bathroom suicidal shit."

Billy cringed.

"That obvious?"

Hank whistled, shaking his head.

"You didn't notice we took all the glass cups out of there?"

"I wasn't even looking for cups," Billy admitted, reaching back to scratch his shoulder where Hank had touched it. The scabs didn't hurt much anymore, but they itched like hell as they peeled away, and Joey was making a habit of picking bits of the loosest ones off.

"Well, whatever you were looking for, I hope you found it," Hank said. "We thought you were gonna crack before the week was out."

"I might've," Billy said softly, staring down at the gravel.

"We weren't about to let you."

"Yeah," Billy said, half smiling. "Thanks."

When he glanced up, Hank looked more serious than he'd ever seen him.

"I can't tell you," he said quietly, "how fucking sorry I am."

"Jesus, Hank," Billy said, closing his eyes. "For what?"

"For saying what I said when it was still so fresh you left fucking blood on the wall."

Billy swallowed hard, feeling his hands on the fence begin to tremble.

"Did I?"

"Yeah," Hank said. "And part of me kind of wished…"

"Out with it, Hank." Billy gritted his teeth, waiting.

"…that you'd find him again, never mind the rest of us."

That did it.

"Fuck, then why didn't you just _let_ me—"

"Because that was after the fact," Hank said harshly. "Look, in the worst of it, you know what I was thinking? I was thinking I'd take over for you if I had to. I would've done anything, Billy. You got that? _Anything_."

"Yeah," Billy whispered, unable to stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks, _God_ , how he wished they'd just go away already. Joey was back. He _had_ —

"But I'm glad you weren't as stupid as I was," Hank said finally, taking hold of both Billy's shoulders this time. "Really fucking glad."

Billy wiped his eyes on the back of his hand and straightened up, nodding at Hank until he was sure he could breathe without another sob catching in his throat. _There_.

"I've gotta finish three miles," Hank said, nodding back. "See you later?"

"Yep," Billy said, stepping away from the fence. "Dinner. Same time, same place."

"I'm workin' on Snuff," Hank said as he jogged off. "Trust me."

"I do," Billy said, and turned back to the school.

Joey was still asleep when he got back to the room, which was a first. Left to himself, Joey tended to get up and start doing whatever ludicrous thing his newfound free time permitted: reading weird books, organizing Billy's socks, et cetera. Billy had suggested just the other day that Joey keep coming to class, but Joey had just shrugged and said, "Maybe." The truth was that he thought he'd be a distraction; Billy didn't have to ask.

"You're cold," Joey mumbled, wrapping himself back around Billy anyway.

Billy woke up again at ten thirty, realizing he'd better take a shower. Joey actually yawned and said that was a good idea, and followed him up the hall to the bathroom, which was definitely an unprecedented development. Billy felt vaguely nervous.

If Joey noticed, he didn't mention it. He picked up Billy's boxers and t-shirt when he just dropped them on the grimy tile, hanging them on the metal hook just outside the stall. He stopped Billy for a kiss before he could step inside to get the water running, then watched thoughtfully as the water began to run, drops bouncing off Billy's hand and the walls and spattering around him and through him and onto the outer cubicle curtain.

"What the hell are you doing?" Billy asked as Joey followed him under the spray. He hadn't bothered to get rid of his pajamas, or rather, what passed as pajamas. The clothes-thing still puzzled the fuck out of him, maybe even freaked him out.

"Experimenting," Joey said absently, frowning at the water as Billy stepped under it. He was flattened up against the shower wall, and Billy noticed that the water was more or less catching on him, which was different than a few moments before, which made him wonder if Joey'd been thinking about being…not-there, or whatever it was when he dissolved to nothing and walked through walls and doors. So fucking bizarre.

"Well, could you at least get naked? I'd be a lot less weirded out," Billy said, remembering to lower his voice. He got his hair as wet as it would go, then reached outside for the shampoo. When he stood up inside again, the clothes were gone.

"Happy?" Joey asked, leaning forward, and kissed him.

"Mmmf—"

"Oh, shut up," Joey muttered, twisting the shampoo bottle out of his hand and letting it drop on the shower floor. He rested his head on Billy's shoulder, sighing.

"Gotcha," Billy whispered, understanding. When he kissed Joey's hair, he discovered the water had wet it down no differently than it had for any other Saturday morning shower.

Later, when Joey was dressed again and content to be reading his latest book, Billy announced that he was hungry and that he was going to catch the tail-end of brunch.

"Whatever," Joey said, and rolled over on his side, book flattened under his hand.

Sometimes, things just worked out, and as Billy had suspected, it was one of those days that had taken upon itself to strictly comply. Phil was in the cafeteria when he got there, already eating at their usual table…with Derek and Ted beside him. Interesting.

Billy waited till he'd gotten through the line—he'd only gotten cereal—and walked up to the table, setting his tray down at one of the chairs more or less across from Phil.

"Hey," he said brightly, sliding into it.

Phil looked glad to see him, but the freshmen seemed kind of scared.

"S'up?" Phil asked. He was chewing something, probably a bit of mangled-up pancake from his plate. There was a question in his eyes, but his mouth was still preoccupied.

"How you doing?" Billy asked Derek, turning to him instead.

"Not bad," Derek said, smiling hesitantly. At least it was genuine.

"Ted?"

Ted just blinked at him for a second, as if he was shocked Billy remembered his name, then said, "Hi. Okay."

"Good," Billy said, nodding, realizing he had about as much awkward shit to hide as they did, except none of them were really succeeding in hiding it. Fuck, this was hard.

"Ric introduced us the other day," Phil explained, finally swallowing. "You hadn't mentioned—"

"Hadn't really gotten the chance," Billy said hastily. "I hate to interrupt, but d'you have plans?"

"Me, or all of us?" Phil asked, putting his fork down.

Derek and Ted exchanged a nervous glance across Phil's tray.

"You," Billy said. "After this, I mean."

"No," Phil said.

"No track date with Ric?"

"Ric's asleep," Phil said, then gave each of the freshmen a mildly apologetic look.

"It's okay," Derek said, glancing at Billy, still earnest as hell. "We have to go. Study group for geometry," he said, tilting his head at Ted. "C'mon."

Suddenly, Billy felt like more of a jerk than Snuffy and Joey had been about the magazines. He gave Phil a helpless look, but Phil just looked confused.

"Look, I didn't mean to—"

"They _do_ have to go," Phil said, then grinned at Derek. "See you later."

"Yeah," Derek said, and crossed behind him to nudge Ted's elbow with the tray. They left without a backward glance, whispering quietly back and forth.

"That was awkward," Billy muttered, sighing. His Cheerios were getting soggy.

"For freshmen, they're not bad," Phil said thoughtfully. "Did Derek really…"

"Yeah," Billy said. "If you heard it from them, it happened."

"No shit," he said quietly, staring down at his plate, then back up at Billy again. "All of it?"

Billy picked up his spoon and poked his cereal around.

"How much did they tell you?"

Phil turned pale.

"Everything."

"There you go."

There were a few moments of silence wherein neither of them did anything except take a few more bites of whatever sorry thing was in front of them, then stopped dead.

"Billy, I wish I'd been—"

"I'm glad you weren't—"

"Well, shit," Phil said, shaking his head at his plate, laughing in the sick, tired, depressed sort of way that a guy laughs when nothing he's been doing for ages makes any sense.

"No, I mean it," Billy said, glad they weren't both trying to talk at once now. "I'm glad you weren't there. I can't imagine what they would've done."

"They would've taken me and left everybody else," Phil said loudly enough for the next table over to hear, which shocked the hell out of Billy even if nobody _was_ there.

"I told you, I'm glad they didn't."

"Fuck, Billy, the _price_."

Billy poked his Cheerios some more, then sighed.

"Somebody was gonna pay. I just wish it had been me."

"I thought it was," Phil said, blundering forward, honest. "I think I told you that."

"Yeah," Billy said. "You did."

"It's like…out of everybody, I'm sure that's what people expected."

"Parker did," Billy said, keeping his voice low. He wished he had Phil's nerve.

"I just…look," Phil said, gesturing with his fork. "I'm sorry."

"I wish everybody would quit apologizing. _I'm_ the one who's sorry, okay? All I've been doing is walking around here with my head stuck up my ass as if—"

"No, Billy," Phil said, angry for the first time Billy had seen in what felt like years. " _Listen_."

Billy shut his mouth and nodded, closing his eyes. Yeah, exactly what he'd thought.

"I'm doing all right. I miss Joey like a _motherfucker_ , I want you to know that. It's like…I feel like a traitor for letting Ric and Parker talk me into this, but I care about Ric, too, and I have to tell you something, he's scaring the _shit_ out of me right now."

"I can tell," Billy said under his breath, opening his eyes. Phil looked like he was on the edge of tears, or about to burst into the kind of laughter that warranted a straitjacket.

"He tried telling me something the other night, but I got so weirded out I couldn't listen to the rest. I left the room and took a walk, but I found I couldn't go any of the places he had mentioned. There was still this fucking chill down my spine like you wouldn't…"

"What did he tell you?" Billy asked, prepared for the worst. Fucking _hell_ , Ric.

"First off, he said the whole thing with the gate was true. He said you guys saw it with your own eyes," Phil said, eyes narrowed. "Please, tell me that's _not_ true."

Billy took a deep breath.

"Uh, I'm sorry, but it is."

"You fucking liar," Phil whispered.

"I'm not lying," Billy said, feeling oddly detached. "I was there, okay?"

Phil angrily chewed his lip for a few seconds, then took a deep breath and sighed.

"Okay, fine, so Frank's a fucking psycho ghost," he said, finally lowering his voice. "I can deal with that. I was rattled about him and Miller, too. But you've gotta tell me—"

"If Ric said anything else," Billy said, "I think you ought to take it with a grain of salt."

"I had hoped you were going to say that," Phil said, looking relieved.

"And listen to me instead," Billy said gravely, picking up his tray and rising. "C'mon."

Thankfully, Phil seemed to remember what body language was code for _Follow me, and don't ask questions till I say you can_ , so he managed to trail after Billy the whole way through the lunch line and out into the main hall before breaking down.

"Billy, what the fuck?"

"Don't ask questions, okay? We're going to the room. I haven't shown you yet."

"Oh," Phil said, sounding relieved again. "Privacy, right."

"Right," Billy muttered under his breath, leading the way up one flight of steps. Hell of a lot kinder than the two they'd had to put up with before, for sure. He held the door when they got there, waiting till Phil was inside, then shut the door behind them and locked it.

"Small, but not bad," Phil said. "Good to know Ric didn't leave permanent damage."

"Do I want to know?" Billy asked, sitting down on the bed, where Joey was still sprawled with the book, only he was asleep again, what the hell was up with that. He leaned back far enough to rest against Joey, hoping the pressure would wake him. It did.

"Wha— _shit_!" Joey hissed, and rolled off the other side, taking the book with him.

"Your book just took a nose-dive," Phil informed him casually, taking a seat at the desk.

Billy reached down, pretending to go for the book, but offered Joey a hand instead.

Joey's eyes were wide with apprehension. He wouldn't take it, and he glanced between Billy's fingers and the book, then hissed, "Pick it up, asshole. He's watching!"

"That," Billy said, careful to enunciate each word, "is the point."

"What's the point?" Phil asked, and Billy could hear the puzzlement in his voice.

Joey was glancing back and forth between Billy and Phil now, shaking.

"You…you _really_ want…"

"Just do it," Billy said, holding his hand out insistently.

"Okay," Joey whispered, taking reluctant hold. He let Billy help him up onto the bed, coming as if there was nothing out of the ordinary. Billy felt it creak under the added weight, and he didn't dare turn around. Phil was silent except for a soft, confused breath.

"Billy?" he asked, and Billy turned to face him, letting go of Joey's hand.

"That had no point," Joey said. "I'm telling you, he'll think you've gone—"

"Jesus _Christ_!" Phil yelled, leaping out of the chair so fast that he slammed into the desk elbow-first, then collapsed with a yowl of pain. " _Fuck_!"

"Oh, Jesus," Billy muttered, diving off the bed. "Sorry—"

"Don't _touch_ me," Phil yelled, crawling into the space under the desk, elbow clutched to his chest in pain. "Don't…"

"Phil?" Joey asked, and Billy heard the bed sag as if he'd crawled to the edge.

"Oh, God," Phil whispered, eyes darting from side to side. "Billy, what's…"

"Jesus Christ," Joey echoed in a whisper. "How—"

"There it was again," Phil whispered, his hold on his elbow loosening. "Billy…"

"Take your time," Billy said softly, sitting back on his heels. "Now, what—"

"I'm hearing shit," Phil whispered, then blinked at Billy fearfully. "You…you just…your book…I'm not sure…what…"

"I knocked it off the bed," Joey said clearly. "Sorry."

"Oh, fuck," Phil said, shrinking back again.

"I can't believe this," Billy muttered, glancing over his shoulder.

Joey was perched on the edge of the bed, wearing the most incredulous expression Billy had ever seen. He was staring desperately at Phil, struggling to make sense of it with a hand gesture. Billy shrugged, settling so that he sat with his back against the bed.

After a few more seconds, Phil crawled out, wincing over his elbow.

"Funnybone?" Billy asked, not sure he could come up with anything else.

"Yeah," Phil said, rubbing it, then pulling himself up using the desk chair. He sat down in it, white with fear, and stared straight ahead, almost making eye contact with Joey.

"Ric wasn't lying," he said, eyes darting slightly to one side, then to the other. "Was he?"

Joey had his arms wrapped around himself now, looked just as pale as Phil.

"No," he whispered.

"Cut that shit out," Phil said, voice quavering. "Don't hide from me, all right? I can't fucking see you. I didn't even want to believe what he was saying."

"He's not seeing me now," Joey said, slowly letting his arms loosen. "I've been at dinner pretty much every night, and he doesn't—"

"Jesus _fuck_ ," Phil said, staring at Billy. "The chair?"

"Yeah," Billy said, folding his arms across his knees. They'd be turning this place into a nuthouse before it was all through, wouldn't they? How the _fuck_ was it happening?

"Sometimes," Joey said. "I've been walking around. You know, looking at everybody."

"Can't believe this," Phil whispered, staring straight ahead again. "Are you—" He reached out, blind man with a hand extended to the void.

Joey shrank back, scooting to the far side of the bed.

"No offense, but I'd rather…"

"Yeah," Phil said, snatching his hand back, staring at the floor. "Okay. Got it."

"I just…I don't wanna know," Joey said unsteadily. "This is pretty fucking weird for me, too."

"Fuck," Phil said, looking at Billy again almost as if he was going to cry. "I'm _so_ fucking sorry, you have _no_ —"

"Um, Phil," Billy said slowly, reaching out to touch his arm, "really, I do."

"Yeeeeah," Phil said slowly, taking a few deep, shallow breaths. "Okay. Right."

"Billy," Joey said hesitantly, "if you want me to leave, I can—"

"No," Phil whispered, standing up, taking a step toward the bed. "No, don't. I can't…"

"It's okay," Joey said, but for the first time since Billy had seen him again, his voice sounded hollow, even empty, and the look in his eyes was desolation. "I know."

"What the _hell_ are we gonna do?" Phil asked, looking at Billy, then back at the wall. Jesus, he had an unnerving sense of where Joey was. No wonder Joey was freaked.

"Keep going, that's what," Billy said, standing up, sitting down on the edge of the bed again. He glanced over his shoulder at Joey, shrugging. "It's all we _can_ do, right?"

"Yeah," Phil said, sinking into the desk chair. "I guess so. What about Ric?"

"Ric will figure shit out," Joey said, finally crawling back across the bed to settle down beside Billy. Phil watched in fascination as the bed shifted, then readjusted his line of sight. "If he doesn't wanna deal with me, then I have the feeling he won't have to."

"I don't think he can take it," Phil said, scratching his cheek. "He's taking it worse than anybody, except maybe Snuffy. Aw, _fuck_ , Billy, no _wonder_ —"

"Yeah, look, can we just get past that?" Billy asked, mildly frustrated.

"Whatever, but you've gotta give me another minute," Phil said. "I'm going to say some really stupid shit if I don't sort it out fast, like…okay. _Okay_. You're here," he said, looking at Joey. "And as far as you know, that's not gonna change? What did you mean about Ric?"

"I mean he managed to ignore me for a week and a half, except when I addressed him directly," Joey said. "I'm not sure what happened that night with Frank, but something just…whoosh, man, he backed away _so fast_ …" He collapsed a little, leaning against Billy, staring at his hands in his lap. "I mean, I'm glad…no, that's a fucking understatement, but…you know, to think maybe Ric could…"

"You have no idea why Billy can see you?" Phil asked, incredulous.

Joey started to shake his head, then checked himself and said, "No."

Billy bit his tongue, wanting to say, _Didn't come with an instruction manual_.

"No idea why I can hear you, either?" Phil said. "If you've been around, then why—"

"You wanted to," Billy said, glancing up at Phil in shock. "You just said to me downstairs that you missed Joey like—"

"Billy—"

"Badly," Billy said firmly, cutting Phil off, glancing at Joey. "I think maybe that explains something, don't you?"

"Oh, so, let's see, Ric could hear me only when he wanted to, except he really _doesn't_ , so the other night was because maybe he just couldn't fucking help it because he really is psychic like that?"

"You're starting to sound like Snuffy," Phil said, then looked as if he regretted it.

"Fuck Snuffy," Joey said. "I've got bigger problems right now."

"Actually," Phil said, eyes unnervingly accurate, "I'd say Snuffy's at the top of the list."

Joey just glared at him.

"I know that," Billy said, taking hold of Joey's hand. "I'm working on it."

"Hank is, too," Phil said, rummaging around on the desk until he found a rubber band to play with. "So, we got plans for dinner?"

"I'm going back to sleep," Joey muttered, and crawled up to the pillow.

"Better not ask," Billy said before Phil could open his mouth again, then scooted up so he could kiss Joey's cheek. He got up off the bed and stretched, watching Phil watch the pillow with blank interest. Joey glared at him for a few more minutes, then shut his eyes.

"Can't believe this," Phil said again, then looked at Billy.

"Up for a walk?" Billy suggested, suddenly relieved that he didn't have to act like Joey wasn't there anymore, at least not when Phil was around. What an odd thought.

"Yeah," Phil said, standing up unsteadily. "You gonna be okay?" he asked Joey.

"Mmhm," Joey said, and rummaged around until he could find some covers to tug over his head.

"Right," Phil said, quickly turning away. "Let's go."

 


	21. Book of Hours: Part 2

"I'm going with you," Joey said firmly, tossing his magazine on the floor. There were only so many times he could reread last month's issue, anyway.

"Whatever," Billy said, sticking a piece of scrap paper in his English book. "I'm warning you, though, it'll get ugly. I don't think Snuffy and I speak the same language anymore."

"That's why I'm going with you," Joey clarified. "You're gonna shock the hell out of him with how much insight you've gained in these past few weeks."

"Dunno," Billy said, scratching his shoulder. "I'm all for pranks, but that's cruel."

"Not if he needs to hear it," Joey said, standing up, walking over to the desk. He bent down and kissed Billy, then pulled away when Billy tried to catch hold of him, positioning himself behind the chair. He prodded Billy's shoulder, then slipped his hand through the shirt.. He found the peeling spot, then rubbed it with his thumb.

"Mm," Billy said, leaning back.

"Where you meeting him?" Joey asked, letting his hand drift up to Billy's nape, massaging.

"Costume room," Billy said, and Joey could hear the grimace in his voice. "He thinks this is about my Halloween costume. Guess he doesn't know how appropriate it is."

"Shit, that's a week from now," Joey said. He'd caught back up with the calendar reluctantly, realizing that if time still mattered to Billy, then it still mattered to him.

"Yeah," Billy said. "That's assuming anybody else is even thinking of costumes."

"Who cares," Joey said, kissing the top of his head. "You and Phil kick ass."

"Insofar as obscure lit jokes and random pirates can," Billy said, tapping Joey's hand on his shoulder. "C'mon, Snuffy will get all bent out of shape if I'm late."

Snuffy wasn't hiding this time. He was sitting on the floor between a couple of racks of dusty old clothes, rummaging through a box of shoes that looked like it hadn't been sorted since somebody donated it about ten years ago. He tossed a pair of ankle-high women's boots across the room, not bothering to look up when Billy stepped beside him.

"So, what've you got?"

Snuffy looked up at him, dropping a random golf shoe back into the box.

"What are you looking for?"

Joey knelt down beside the box, itching to rummage through. He gave Snuffy a look, wondering why the fuck he was being so obtuse. He'd come _up_ with Billy's costume—and, theoretically, Joey's—back when they'd been camping.

"Hello, it was _your_ idea."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't thinking too hard about how they _dressed_ in Irvingstonian times," Snuffy shot back irritably. He stood up, dusting his hands off, then looked Billy straight in the eye. "Post-Colonial, right?"

"Yeah," Joey said, brushing his hands off, too. "Think 1790s. Look for pants that button in the front."

"Yeah," Billy echoed. "Pants with buttons in front."

"Might as well go for the same boots as last year," Snuffy said, turning down between the next couple rows of racks. "Redcoat outlaw, Colonial leftovers, same diff."

"Right," Billy said, and went for the row of boxes along the wall. The boots were there, tossed haphazardly in the same box he'd returned them to last fall. "Got 'em."

"We have pants," Snuffy called. "Get back here."

Joey stood up and followed Billy to where Snuffy was, keeping a few steps behind him. Billy was uncomfortable, and he kept trying to look Joey in the eye for reassurance.

Snuffy had a black pair slung over his arm, and he was holding a brown pair up in front of him. Both seemed to have the front-flap thing going on, double rows of buttons, which was what Joey had meant. He took secret satisfaction in Snuffy being able to read his meaning even when he wasn't delivering the descriptions himself.

"The brown ones," Joey said, nudging Billy's back. "Might be a bit loose, but the color's better. Shirts, no problem. You've got your pick of that whole fucking back row."

"I'll take the brown ones," Billy said, reaching for them.

Snuffy looked up sharply, clutching them to his chest.

"You should probably try them on," he said, eyes sweeping from Billy's chest down to his feet.

"You didn't just do that," Joey breathed, locking eyes on Snuffy, furious.

Billy's hands fisted at his sides, probably fighting the impulse to turn and respond.

"Thanks, I'll just take both," Billy said, managing to get the black ones away from Snuffy. The brown ones slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor. He and Snuffy both went after them at once, bumping elbows on the way. Billy swore and stood up, giving Joey the most irritated look that he'd seen in a long, long time.

Snuffy stood up with the brown pants, breath wheezing out on a sigh.

"Whatever," he said, thrusting the pants at Billy. "I can see you've got this under control. Lock the door when you leave, all right?"

"Wait," Joey said, grabbing Billy's arm. "Don't let him go."

"Wait," Billy said, clutching the boots and pants up tighter.

Snuffy stopped in his tracks, then turned around, giving Billy a blank look.

"Look, I'm…not sure how to say this," Billy said, sighing.

Snuffy folded his arms across his chest, defensive stance to the _n_ th degree.

"I didn't let you in here just so we could have our own private pity-party, Billy."

"Why are you stalking me?" Billy asked, more blunt than Joey had thought he'd be.

"Easy," Joey said softly, setting a hand on Billy's shoulder.

"Because you won't talk to me," Snuffy said, shrugging, trying for flippant. "It's like I don't exist. Ever since I tried—"

"You crossed a line," Billy said, jaw tightening, "that I wasn't ready to cross."

"Good," Joey said, nodding. "Let him know."

"What the _hell_ , Billy?" Snuffy demanded, taking a few steps back toward him. "Do you think _any_ time is good to be bringing up this shit? Fuck that. It'll never be the right time, okay? Time is irrelevant. All I'm trying to do is get through to you before you brick yourself off so tight in that cell of yours that none of us can reach you."

Joey tightened his grip on Billy's shoulder, frowning.

"That's pushing it."

"Yeah," Billy agreed, glancing back at him.

"At least you admit it," Snuffy said, and started to turn around again.

"I wasn't talking to you," Billy snapped. "And where the fuck are you going?"

"As far as I'm concerned," Snuffy said, "this discussion is over."

"Isn't," Joey hissed, and he caught the back of Snuffy's shirt just as he reached the door, yanking him back with all his might. Snuffy gasped, flailing.

" _What_ the—"

Joey regained his balance and let go, watching Snuffy stumble hands-first into the wall.

"Jesus _Christ_ , Billy," he wheezed, standing up again, "you could've—"

Snuffy stopped dead, blinking at Billy, who hadn't moved an inch. They were about ten feet apart, and Billy's arms were still piled full of the costume stuff.

"Oh, shit," Joey muttered. He couldn't look at Billy, who looked like he was trying to think fast and failing. "Sorry," he said, cringing.

"What's going on here?" Snuffy asked in a weird voice, picking blindly at the back of his shirt. "What _was_ that?"

"I don't know," Billy said helplessly, not looking at Joey anymore. "I'm sorry."

"How can you be sorry if you didn't—"

"I'm not talking about that," Billy said, finally walking toward Snuffy. "I'm talking about shutting myself off, okay? I could've at least kept the lines open. I've been…"

"Readjusting," Joey suggested, feeling stupid. There was nothing else he could do.

"Readjusting?" Snuffy asked, sounding unreasonably patient.

Billy blinked at Joey, then stared at Snuffy, and just nodded, too shocked to say anything.

"Yeah," Snuffy said, nodding, too, letting his gaze drop to the floor. "Makes shits of everybody," he muttered, scuffing at the dust. "God, except Hank. You'd swear—"

"He's been great," Billy said. "I owe him."

"We all do," Snuffy said, sighing, hand drifting to the light switch. "Done?"

"Not quite," Billy admitted, eyes darting back to Joey. "Just gotta find a shirt."

"Like I said, lock the door behind you," Snuffy said. "This place is gonna kill me."

"'Course it won't," Billy said, setting the stuff down in a pile on the floor. "Got your inhaler?"

"No," Snuffy said, already in the hall. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Yeah," Billy said, nodding as he watched Snuffy leave.

"That," Joey said, closing the door behind him, "was decidedly anticlimactic."

"Except the part where he was checking me out," Billy said, radiating relief.

"Sorry about that," Joey muttered, rubbing his neck. "Got carried away."

"Are you kidding? That was fucking hilarious," Billy said, and reached out for Joey's hand. "C'mon, let's look for a shirt."

Grinning, Joey let himself be dragged to the back of the room, fairly sure that Snuffy's hasty departure had nothing to do with not having his inhaler with him.

 

* * *

 

"Dude, couldn't you think of anything better?" Billy asked, studying Phil's get-up. As pirates went, it was pretty standard. Boringly so, in fact, right down to the eye-patch.

"Not on short notice," Phil said glumly, then turned and gave the desk chair a pleading look. "What d'you think? It's not _that_ bad, is it?"

"The stockings are different," Joey said, chin resting on his forearms on the back of the chair. "Purple and black is better than, say, red and white or black and white."

"See?" Phil said, turning back to Billy. "I'm justified."

"Whatever," Billy said, picking at his neckline, making sure it was unbuttoned enough. He almost tripped into the Jack O' Lantern, which he'd set down next to his feet. Joey had insisted on getting a real pumpkin and carving it up. There was still a sticky spot on the floor where the pumpkin guts had bled through the newspaper.

"That thing is freaky," Phil said, walking over to the pumpkin and staring at it. "You _did_ that?" he asked Joey, disbelieving. "How? With what?"

"A knife," Joey said, shrugging as Billy turned around, still picking at his collar. "It's _fine_. What else?" he asked, addressing Phil again.

"You mean you…just…" Phil made an empty carving gesture in the air.

"Yes," Joey said, sounding like he was ready to laugh.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Phil asked.

"Because the last thing I need is you passed out on my floor over a floating knife and disembodied pumpkin seeds," Billy said, hefting the pumpkin up, looking it in the eyes.

"I was going for the face in the bush," Joey said. "You know, in the crazy lady's window."

"Tim Burton, eat your heart out," Billy said, balancing the thing on his shoulder. "Let's go."

Classes had been fun, and Billy had actually managed to talk Joey into going. Oger had gotten the joke, which was great, although he had asked Billy to leave the pumpkin in the hall, which Billy had refused to do on the grounds that someone might steal it. Much put-upon, Oger had asked him to return his room. There had been a few other costumes, but most of them were either partial or had the feel of being hastily thought out.

"You guys are nuts," Ric said when they walked into the caf. He was waiting just inside the door with Snuffy, and Hank was over at the table picking through one of the candy bowls. He was wearing his best attempt at a toga, which involved white sweatpants and his running shoes and was thus not as effective as it might've been otherwise. He waved.

"Not bad," Snuffy said, looking Billy up and down again, but with less intent.

"Thanks," Joey said, leaning against the wall. The real shame of it was that nobody could see _him_ , and what a sight he was: he'd somehow pulled together the semblance of an eighteenth-century schoolmaster's garb in somber charcoal, right down to the hat.

Billy just grinned at him, set the pumpkin down, then looked up. Hank was on his way back, hands loaded with random junk. Sweet Tarts, Three Musketeers, Twix.

"Dammit," Joey muttered, eyes falling on the chocolate like he had completely forgotten that such a thing existed. Could he even _eat_? Billy hadn't seen him try to touch food, though he'd noticed lukewarm cups of tea turning up on the desk. He never asked.

"I'm telling you, they should've let us do this yesterday and given us today off," Hank said, tossing the Three Musketeers at Snuffy, who caught it against his chest.

"Halloween can't always fall on Friday," Ric said. "Gimme the Twix."

"I hate you," Joey muttered.

"What?" Ric asked, glancing around nervously.

"I'm with you," Billy said quickly. "Got another one?"

"No, man," Hank said, letting Phil take the Sweet Tarts. "Get it yourself."

"Arrr," Phil said, ripping the wrapper with his teeth.

Billy tilted his head at Joey, then nodded at the table.

"Fine," Joey said, and followed the path he cut between Hank and Phil.

"I'm gonna take some for later," Billy said under his breath, stuffing two Twix into his back pocket. "Got it?"

"Yeah," Joey said, eyes resting pensively on the candy.

Billy reached over and brushed his hand where it rested on the table, making it look like he was smoothing out the gaudy, orange crepe paper garland that was strewn there.

They stood around and shot the breeze for a bit longer, though as the moments wore on, Billy got more and more uneasy about Ric. Whenever Joey decided to say something, Phil shot Billy a tense look, and whenever Joey said something that related in any way to something that Ric had said, Ric's eyes darted instantly in Joey's direction.

"It's warm in here," Billy said, scanning the room for Parker. He seemed preoccupied at the moment, chatting with Gould and a couple of teachers over by the silverware racks.

"Yeah," Snuffy agreed. "When they giving the prize, anyway?"

"You know Derek's gonna get it," Hank said, mouth full of chocolate.

Derek had been the center of attention all evening, and the rest of the freshmen were taking exuberant pride in the fact that one of their own had managed to pull off something as utterly cool—and _deserved_ —as a WWI fighter pilot's uniform.

"Yeah," Billy said, catching the edge of the kid's smile before he turned back to talking with Ted and the skinny, pale kid whose name was either Troy or Roy. "Wanna split?"

"Where to?" Phil asked. "They bricked up the cellar."

"No way," Joey said, pushing away from the door and coming up behind Billy.

Billy hadn't been aware of that, but somehow, it didn't shock him to hear.

"There are other places," Snuffy said, crumpling up a Reese's wrapper. "They didn't lock up the bell tower, y'know. People still have to get up there to ring it."

There was complete silence. Every one of them knew that guys had died up there.

"No way," Ric said, shaking his head. "Count me out."

"I don't know," Phil said, catching Ric's eye briefly as if to let him know he understood, but just as quickly he looked to Billy, eyes narrowing. "Is it safe?"

"No worse than usual," Snuffy said casually, shrugging, "except for the bullet holes."

"You talk like you've been up there," Billy said, challenging him.

"I have," Snuffy said, glancing over at Hank for back-up.

"Fucking lunatic," Hank said, tossing some wrappers at the garbage can in the corner. "Yeah, we've been up there."

"You _too_?" Ric asked, eyes wide. "You're fucking nuts."

"So sue me," Snuffy said, lowering his voice. "I wanted to see what the damage was."

"Well, I hope you're happy," Ric said, folding his arms uncomfortably across his middle.

" _I_ haven't even been up there," Joey said in Billy's ear, faint breath quavering.

"Look, we're flat out of places to hang out," Snuffy said, looking straight at Billy.

"Not true," Billy said. "I have a single, remember?"

"Yeah, and Ric had it for ages, but did we ever hang out there?"

"Shut up," Ric said. "Just because a guy likes his privacy—"

"Guys, cut it out," Billy said, stooping down for the pumpkin. "My door's open."

"Not _too_ open," Joey reminded him, arms folded in perfect imitation of Ric's.

"You know what I mean," Billy said to him, then looked back at the rest. Oops.

"Yeah," Hank said, half smiling. "We know."

"I'll bring the booze," Snuffy said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Let's go."

They all filed out after Snuffy, jostling to get through the door. Billy hung back—partly because the pumpkin made it hard to navigate, and partly on account of Joey.

"I'm only gonna say this once," Joey said, poking him in the arm. "Don't you dare let Snuffy go through my stuff, and don't let _anybody_ touch the guitar."

"You'll be right there," Billy pointed out as they started up the hall. "If anybody tries, you could make him stop sooner than I could."

"It's bad enough Phil can hear me," Joey said. "I don't wanna scare Ric, got it?"

"He's already scared," Billy said thoughtfully, "and I think he needs to get over what obviously isn't gonna go away." _Or at least I fucking hope not_.

"What're you getting at?" Joey asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

"I'm suggesting," Billy said, glancing ahead to where Phil was hanging back and giving him questioning looks, "that you use your brain and snap him the fuck out of it."

"Might as well have gone to the bell tower," Joey muttered, giving Billy a shove. The pumpkin jostled free of his grasp and tottered off his shoulder before he could catch it, hitting the floor with a hollow, sickening thud.

" _Shit_!" Billy yelled, jumping back from the mess. "Gah, yeah, that's just—"

"Great," Phil was gasping, doubled over and laughing so hard he couldn't breathe. "Oh, _man_ —"

"Is there some problem, Mr. Tepper?" Parker's voice echoed in the corridor, forbidding.

"No," Billy said, staring at the mess, then back at the entrance to the caf. Parker was standing there, his expression jammed somewhere between irritated and must-not-laugh. "Just…" He gestured at the pumpkin, then at Joey, and realized it was useless. "Yeah."

Billy could hear the other guys in the background, desperately trying not to laugh.

Parker massaged his eyebrows for about three seconds straight, head lowered.

"Get out of here," he said, finally looking up again, "before I change my mind about calling the janitor."

"Yessir," Phil muttered, grabbing Billy's elbow and tugging at it. "C'mon!"

"Thank you, sir," Billy said, saluting. He wouldn't turn around just yet. Parker was going to crack, he just knew it. Joey was still standing beside the pumpkin, chewing his lip around what was probably going to burst into laughter the minute that Parker did.

"I could get used to this!" he shouted down the hall, grinning.

Billy grinned back, ignoring Parker. _This_ was why going on was worth it.

 

* * *

 

Three days before Thanksgiving, Billy came home from class looking like he'd been handed the worst project assignment _ever_. Joey set his mug down and frowned, pushing away from the desk. He'd been sorting through all the application packets that Billy had gotten in the mail and not bothered to open: Harvard, M.I.T., UMass, and UConn.

"What's up?" Joey asked, frowning.

"Must be my lucky day," Billy said, dumping the contents of his backpack out on the floor. He kicked through them briefly, then went over and sat down on the bed, running his fingers through his hair in agitation. "Parker wants to see me tomorrow."

"I bet it's about these," Joey said, tapping the applications with the tip of his finger.

"Yeah, probably, but that's not the trouble," Billy sighed. "Oger wants me to drop by his office in half an hour. He said he wants to discuss something."

"Shit," Joey said, turning back to the desk, pounding his fist against the papers.

"What?" Billy asked, anxious.

"Never mind," Joey sighed, turning around again. "I'll go with you."

"I appreciate it, but that might make things worse."

"Not this," Joey said, chewing his lip. "It's my fault."

"What—"

"The paper," Joey said, staring at his feet.

"Oh, great," Billy groaned, flopping back on the bed. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Neither had I," Joey said, determined, "but I'm gonna help you out of this."

"I appreciate the thought," Billy said, sitting up again, "but I have the feeling I have a lot of explaining to do, and I have the feeling I can't just say, 'Um, yeah, Joey wrote it as an anniversary present so I'd be free to plan some brilliant thing to mark the occasion.'"

Joey sighed, chewing his lip, then stood up.

"Just do whatever I say, okay? I'll think of something."

"Here's hoping," Billy said, and let Joey pull him up from the bed.

Oger's door had sported the same oversized poster of Shakespeare's head ever since Joey had first arrived at Regis, and the sorry thing would probably stay there until it started to curl and rip at the edges where it was held up by wide, transparent strips of tape.

"Come in," Oger said, easily audible because his door was cracked.

"Thanks," Billy said, stepping inside, unconsciously holding the door so Joey could go in ahead of him. Joey caught himself wanting to thank Billy, but held his tongue.

"I, ah, I'm not sure there's any real way to, ah, approach this gracefully, so I suppose I'll give you the chance to, ah, tell me why you think I've called you here."

Billy froze, staring at the random picture frames on Oger's desk, and swallowed.

"Tell him, yes, you _do_ have some idea," Joey said carefully, touching his arm.

"Actually, yeah," Billy said. "I think I have some idea."

Oger nodded, glancing over at his desk. Joey saw the familiar packet of hand-written pages sitting there, some red markings at the top and scattered down the margins that he couldn't properly see. Yeah, it was definitely about the paper.

"I apologize if there's been some confusion, ah, regarding peer editing," Oger said carefully, picking the paper up so that they could only see the back page, which was blank except for another flurry of red handwriting. "I appreciate that you've sought, ah, help, and I think that…your writing has, ah, significantly improved."

"What the fuck?" Joey wondered aloud. This wasn't a typical plagiarism charge, for sure.

"Thanks," Billy said, clearly concentrating on every breath he took.

Oger gave him a long, hard look before letting his eyes fall to the floor, expression behind his glasses indicating that he was tired, conflicted, desperate, or all three.

"I'm sorry I held onto this for longer than the others," he said, then held the paper out to Billy. "Consider it an, ah, act of commemoration. It's the, ah, least I can do."

Billy blinked at the paper, apparently disbelieving. Joey stepped up behind him, breathless, glancing over Billy's shoulder. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"A-minus," Billy said out loud, lowering the paper in disbelief. "You gave me an _A-minus_ on this?" he asked, sounding just enough like he was in honest disbelief.

Oger half smiled, if somewhat sadly, staring at the floor again.

"There are some things that, ah, no matter how much of a conundrum they present, you can't just, ah, overlook them without giving credit where credit's, ah, due."

"Thanks," Billy whispered, clutching the paper to his chest.

"A million," Joey said, giving Oger a hard look that he'd never in a million years notice.

"Thanks a _million_ ," Billy said, his throat tight. "From, um…" He trailed off, swallowing, eyes closed tight. "From both of us."

"It's the least I can do," Oger said again, and swiveled back to his desk before Billy could say anything else. "Have a nice, ah, evening, Mr. Tepper."

"He will," Joey said, and tugged Billy out of the office before he teared up.

"I don't…" Billy began, standing motionless in the middle of his room, staring down at the paper as soon as Joey got the door closed behind them. "I _can't_ —"

"You can," Joey said, snatching the paper away, letting go so that it drifted to the floor in a flutter. "It's your present," he reminded Billy, and kissed him before he could cry.

Getting Billy down on the bed wasn't such a difficult thing, as overwhelmed and pliant as he was, and any time he tried to say something, Joey gave him another kiss or undid another button. By the time he was down to nothing but boxers and socks, he'd gotten the point, taking hold of Joey and whispering that he didn't deserve this, couldn't possibly.

"You do," Joey insisted, stroking his cheek, and remembered that being naked for this was probably a good idea.

Billy groaned and thrust up against him.

"Cock-tease."

"Your socks are lame," Joey said, and slid down the length of Billy's body to pull them off, taking particular care to catch hold of his boxers on the way back up.

"Are not," Billy said, but he was breathing hard enough it was almost unintelligible.

Joey just smiled and settled up beside him, worming his hand inside the boxers. He took gentle hold of Billy, enjoying the way Billy moaned and shivered and clung to him.

"No more 'buts,'" Joey said softly, kissing him on the mouth. He stroked Billy's cock with his thumb, once up, once down, then wrapped his fingers around it tightly.

" _Oh_ ," was all Billy said, mouth crushed against Joey's collarbone—still strange, even after all this time, his own contours and realities—and shifted his hips helplessly.

"Love you," Joey whispered, nuzzling Billy's cheek, and slid one leg over Billy's, giving him something to push against while Joey's hand worked at him carefully, noticing the way Billy's thigh tensed under Joey's own as his moans finally broke on a sob.

"Oh fuck. _Joey_!"

"Shhh," Joey whispered, stroking Billy's hair back from his forehead, "better." He kissed the damp skin carefully, trailing his lips down to Billy's eyelids—one, then the other.

Billy still breathed in erratic gasps, one hand fisted in the pillow and the other clenched on Joey's arm. Joey cradled him protectively, unnerved at the thought of Billy alone like this, or worse, at the hands of someone else. He pushed it from his mind, holding Billy close.

"Joey…" Billy squeezed his arm, then trailed his fingers down to Joey's elbow.

"Nope," Joey murmured, kissing his nose. "'M fine."

Billy sighed, hand falling limp, still lightly curled, possessive.

"Go to sleep," Joey said softly, stroking his hair again. "Long day."

"T'morrow's worse," Billy mumbled. "Parker. Gotta pack."

"I'll do it while you're at class." Fucking Thanksgiving break. Giving up this privacy was almost unthinkable, but Barbara hadn't been about to let Billy stay at Regis.

"Thanks," Billy said, pressing a kiss against Joey's neck.

"Promise me you're gonna take Parker seriously," Joey sighed.

"Will," Billy murmured. "Got all the papers."

"I kind of went through them," Joey admitted. "It'll take a lot of work."

"Got all of break," Billy pointed out, yawning. He squirmed closer, tugging Joey's hand away from his sticky stomach. "Gross."

"Get out of those," Joey said, letting go of him and sitting up.

Billy groaned and did the same, swaying for a minute before collecting his wits enough to shimmy out of the boxers. He kicked them carelessly on the floor, then turned and grabbed Joey, yanking the covers up over them. Joey rested his head against Billy's chest, listening until he was sure he had the sound of Billy's heart in his ear.

"Love you," Billy whispered, stroking Joey's hair.

"Duh," Joey said, closing his eyes, and smiled.

 

* * *

 

It was the longest Tuesday of Billy's life, not counting the meeting with Parker. That had actually been painless, as Joey had been exactly right about what he wanted. The problem was that his mother was picking him up that evening, and he'd have to put up with her at least until his father picked him up at her place sometime on Friday.

How on earth he'd gotten stuck with math last period was _beyond_ him, and it was forty-five minutes of fucking torture until the bell rang. He hung around just long enough to say goodbye to the others—Ric and Phil were staying, Hank and Snuffy weren't.

Billy ran the whole way back to his room, out of breath by the time he got there.

"Geez, take it easy," Joey said, glancing up from where he sat on the floor. There were a bunch of random magazines spread out in front of him, and he had Billy's scissors in hand. Judging by the pile of clippings beside him, he'd been at it a while.

Billy closed the door and sighed, locking it behind him.

"Hey, um…yeah. Hi. What's this?"

Joey shrugged, setting the scissors down on top of the magazine he'd been flipping through. "Collage, something," he said, shrugging as he stood up. "Don't really know."

"Want me to pack it?" Billy asked, dropping his backpack against the wall.

"Nah, I need something sitting around here for when I'm bored," Joey said, stepping up to him with his hands in his pockets. He leaned forward and kissed Billy casually. "Your stuff's ready," he said, tilting his head at the stuffed duffel bag at the foot of the bed.

"You've gotta be kidding," Billy said, looking at it, then back at Joey. "You didn't _have_ to—"

"Applications and everything," Joey said, giving him a stern look. "What'd Parker want?"

"I refuse," Billy said, tugging him in for another kiss, "to give you the satisfaction of knowing you were absolutely right."

Joey grinned, looping his arms around Billy's neck.

"Ha!"

"Don't push it," Billy said, nuzzling Joey's cheek.

"When's your mom showing up?"

"She said four-thirty."

"Hour and a half," Joey said glumly, glancing at the alarm clock.

"Give or take," Billy said, tugging Joey over to the bed. "It'll be okay. I'll get in the back seat, she won't ask questions. If that's what you're worried about—"

"No," Joey said, frowning at the magazine clippings as he took a seat beside Billy. "Been in a car, remember? It's just…"

"I know," Billy agreed, nodding at the floor. "It sucks." He yawned, covering his mouth.

Joey drew his legs up on the bed—barefoot, Billy noticed, just like he usually was when he was alone and doing whatever—and tugged on Billy's arm, eyes coaxing.

"You're tired."

"What's your thing with sleep, anyway?" Billy asked, following without resistance. Joey was warm and lazy from being shut up with the radiator all day and made a nice pillow.

"Because I can," Joey said, tucking his chin over the top of Billy's head with a sigh.

"What will he think of next?" Billy asked, grinning.

"Tea," Joey said. "Chocolate. I think I've figured out how to swallow stuff now, but I have no fucking _clue_ where it goes. Gone."

"No shit," Billy said, lifting his head. The teacup had been completely empty the past few times he'd looked in it, which had puzzled him. Better than sad, abandoned tea.

Joey leaned up to kiss his chin, then shrugged.

"I don't get hungry, though," he said. "Ever."

"Just stuff you like," Billy said, tracing the hollow of his throat.

"I guess," Joey said pensively.

Billy kissed him, deciding that a nap was probably a good idea after all. He dozed for a while, until Joey shook him and whispered that it was four-fifteen and they'd better go.

His mother's car was at the far end of the track parking lot, obscured by a handful of vehicles that belonged to faculty and staff (and a few others containing impatiently waiting parents). Billy set the duffel bag down on the pavement and paused to zip up his coat, hoping his mom hadn't spotted him yet. Joey paced ahead and kicked the nearest bit of gravel, pausing to glance back at Billy, anxious.

"No talking from here on out," he said. "At least not till we're alone."

"Probably not till we get to Connecticut," Billy said. "She doesn't stop much."

"Right," Joey sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. He was in a coat that Billy recognized from New Year's, black and dressy and strange-looking in comparison to the parka-thing he usually wore in the winter. Superfluous, comfortingly normal habits.

"Let's go," Billy said, picking the bag up again. He caught up with Joey, reaching over briefly to clasp his hand. "Love you."

Joey just squeezed his hand, then let go of it, glancing ahead to the car.

Barbara had her reading glasses on, frowning at a book propped up against the steering wheel. Billy knocked on her window, and she looked up, startled. He pointed to the back of the car and made a lifting gesture. She nodded and popped the trunk.

"Glad she doesn't do that 'Let me help you out' shit," Billy muttered, swinging his bag up into the trunk before slamming it shut again.

Joey just raised his eyebrows, nodding.

Billy opened the back door, the one directly behind his mother, and caught himself before he started to climb in, realizing he had a problem. He stepped back, hoping Joey'd get the message, but a sound from inside the car caught his attention. Joey was already inside, leaning against the other door, one foot up against the back of the passenger seat.

"Right," Billy said, and got in, slamming the door behind him.

"I missed you, too," Barbara said somewhat irritably, and started the car.

"Sorry," Billy muttered, rolling his eyes. "Wasn't…" No use explaining, anyway.

Joey reached over and covered Billy's hand, pressing it flat on the seat between them.

"How are classes?" Barbara asked, taking the car out of park. She was too busy making sure nobody else was coming to bother looking at Billy, for which he was grateful.

"Not bad," Billy said. "Got an A-minus on my English paper."

"Really." Not a question, but his mother's tone was still far too surprised for his taste.

"Yes," Billy said, glancing over at Joey as they pulled out onto the main drive.

"Long ride," Joey muttered, lifting Billy's arm up onto the back of the seat and scooting over so that he was right up against Billy, head settled on his shoulder.

Billy let his breath out slowly. That could've been taken for him lifting his own arm.

 _Yep_ , he thought silently, tilting his head against Joey's ever so slightly, grateful that dusk was falling and that his mother seemed too intent on her driving to push things.

Billy wanted to sleep, but the drive to New Haven was just about two hours, and having Joey curled up on the seat with his head in Billy's lap was worth staying awake for. It amazed him that Joey seemed to have thought out every movement he had made. They'd been touching the whole damned ride, and his mother still hadn't said a single thing.

When they finally pulled into the driveway, Joey said up, rubbing his eyes.

"Looks familiar," he said.

"Welcome back," Billy said, and instantly regretted it.

Barbara turned around while the garage door lifted before them with a series of mechanical clunks, giving Billy a tired, unreadable look.

"I _have_ missed you," she said, then turned around again, pulling forward into the garage. "I hope that counts for something."

"You too," Billy muttered, ignoring the low, angry sound Joey made under his breath.

The house was over-warm and quiet, though that changed quickly, as Barbara went through it ahead of him, turning on lights in almost every room. It hurt his eyes.

"Your bed's made up," she said, coming back to the kitchen when she realized Billy had stopped there. "Did you eat something at Regis?"

"No," Billy said, unzipping his coat before taking it off and draping it over a chair.

Barbara pursed her lips and picked it up, wordlessly whisking it off to the closet.

"Whatever," Joey muttered. He was already coatless and shoeless, scrutinizing her awful magnet collection. "I hope she doesn't buy all those herself," he said dully.

"Almost," Billy said, setting his duffel bag down as his mother returned.

"You're talkative," she said, folding her arms across her chest, leaning against the doorframe. She always looked really uncomfortable in a sweater and jeans.

"Thinking about a lot," Billy said vaguely, shrugging.

Barbara unfolded her arms and took a few steps toward one of the chairs, pulling it out far enough to sit down. "Like?" she prompted, leaning on the table.

"Graduation," Billy said, wandering over to the fridge. If he took food, he'd have to talk less. She'd simply be glad he was eating, at least in theory. "College applications."

"I hope you're considering Connecticut," she said, sounding anxious.

"I requested an application," Billy said absently, opening the fridge door. Yogurt, fruit salad, Slim-Fasts, dubious stuff in casserole bowls. "UMass, too. Harvard. What's this?"

"Spaghetti," Barbara said, shifting in her chair. "Don't get your hopes up."

"What, is it bad?"

"I meant about Harvard."

"What a bitch," Joey said.

Billy turned around with the plastic bowl in his hands, biting his tongue. Joey was sitting on top of his duffel bag, eyes wide and innocent. "Um," he said, turning back to his mother. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know about your chances," she said, frowning at her fingernails. "They're probably not the best. I'm just being honest with you."

"I've been working my ass off," Billy said, carrying the bowl over to the microwave. He rummaged in the cupboard until he found a big enough porcelain bowl, then dumped all that was left of the spaghetti into it. "My grades aren't half bad."

"Harvard isn't looking for 'not half bad,'" Barbara said disapprovingly. "Where else?"

"M.I.T.," Billy said, enjoying the unreasonable gasp it drew from her.

"Not much difference. Don't tell me those are the only four?"

"Mom, that's all I have the _energy_ for, okay?" He punched in three minutes on the microwave and started it running, taking his turn to fold his arms. If he turned around and looked at either of them, he'd probably lose it. Joey was quiet, and that meant fury.

"Your have an excellent chance at the state schools," she said, and he heard her stand up, stretching. "Do you need anything? I have some paperwork to catch up on."

"I'll be fine," Billy said, deciding it was probably safe to turn around. Joey was still perched on his luggage, arms folded across his knees, chin resting on them wearily.

Barbara nodded, brushing her hair back from her forehead.

"Good, then. Don't stay up too late. Keep the T.V. down."

"Probably won't watch it," Billy said, turning back to the microwave, which was about to go off. "G'night."

"Good night." His mother turned and padded down the hall, footfalls echoing relief.

"Your mom needs to get a life," Joey said, standing up. "Either that or get laid."

"Augh, I don't wanna think about that."

"Not asking you to. Just saying."

"Actually," Billy said, hissing as he tried to pull the bowl out of the microwave by searing hot edges, "I think she's gotten too much of the latter. Fucking jaded."

Joey nodded, watching him juggle the bowl over to the table. He went over and opened a few drawers, rummaging till he found a fork, then brought it over and set it down beside Billy. "There," he said. "Didn't quite remember where she kept 'em."

"Good enough for me," Billy said, and pulled out two chairs.

Joey let him eat mostly in silence, for which he was grateful, though he got a rather fascinating glimpse at some of the stuff Joey had, miraculously, been doing for himself. He pulled a cup down from the cupboards next, then fished the milk out of the fridge and poured some, put it back, and brought the cup over to Billy like it was nothing unusual.

"You realize," Billy said, keeping his voice low, "that if Mom had come in here for something, she would've freaked?"

"Notice how much I care," Joey said flatly, and leaned over to kiss him.

When he was finished, Billy dropped his dishes in the sink, but he didn't bother to rinse them. He lugged his bag back to his bedroom and found it as warm as the rest of the house. His mother had picked up the stuff he'd left out before leaving for school again, and the floor had vaccuum tracks that were probably several months old.

He locked the door and set down his bag, turning to Joey with a sigh.

"I guess this _has_ gotten easier."

"Yeah, none of that mattress shit," Joey said, tugging back the covers. It was still strange as hell to watch whatever Joey was wearing fade eerily to something else, or vanish entirely, or whatever the situation was when Billy happened to catch it. Joey sat down in the middle of the mattress, already settled in dark pajama pants and an old t-shirt.

Billy took his time, moving around the room and inspecting things. He left his shirt and jeans on the floor, too warm to consider bothering with anything else. He hated it when his mother shifted stuff around. He never forgot the location of a single thing, that much he prided himself on. There were things missing that shouldn't have been—old pocketknife here, stack of magazines there. Since when was she a housekeeper?

"Billy," Joey said softly, shifting on the bed.

"I know," Billy muttered. "Useless. She _is_ a bitch."

"C'mere."

Joey was as warm and reassuring as he'd been back at Regis, and after a few minutes of lying there curled up, it was clear that he was ready to crash. He kissed Joey's forehead apologetically, yawning. His mother probably wouldn't wake him up, so that was a start.

"I'll get the light," Joey whispered, disentangling himself so he could get up.

By the time he got back—pleasant, heavy weight on the bed, under covers, against Billy's chest—Billy was half asleep and drifting, thinking that this could be worse, far worse.

 

* * *

 

Barbara walked into the kitchen when Billy was making eggs for himself, wearing a short little robe-thing that was shocking even when you knew what a tramp she was.

"Augh," Joey said, burying his face in his hands as she pulled out the chair right next to his at the table. "Fuck, sorry about that. I see what you mean."

"Mm-hmm," Billy hummed, hardly sparing her a glance over his shoulder. "'Morning, Mom."

"You're up early," she said, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms. There were traces of mascara under her eyes, and her frosted hair framed her face in chaos, stiff and tangled by turns. She yawned behind her hand, then glanced at the coffee pot.

"It's ten o'clock," Billy said. "That's not early."

"Suit yourself," she said, standing up again, stretching. "Coffee?"

"Whatever," Billy said, flipping the omelette with fierce concentration.

Joey leaned hard on the tabletop, staring at the wall. "I'm disturbed, man."

Barbara yawned again, and there was the sound of fingernails on fabric.

"You and me both," Billy sighed, and Joey turned around in time to see him lift the pan away from the skillet, swinging it in a wide, careful arc. "Watch out," he said, talking to his mother again. "Hot shit, coming through."

"Your vocabulary's hardly improving," Barbara said acidly, shaking a packet of coffee grounds into a paper filter. "I want to see that paper."

"Left it at Regis," Billy said, scraping his omelette onto a plate.

"No, you didn't," Joey said, feeling somewhat guilty. "S'with the applications."

Billy turned around and gave him a look that was equal parts indignant and incredulous.

"Then mail it home," Barbara said, putting the lid back on the coffee machine.

"Actually, uh, it might be in one of the folders my applications and stuff are in," Billy said, scratching his neck with a sigh. He turned back to the counter and picked up his plate, then brought it over to the table. He took the seat his mother had been in.

"You brought them home?" Barbara asked, mildly surprised, flipping a switch on the coffee machine. She turned around and leaned against the counter, squinting at him.

"Yeah, how else do you expect me to get 'em finished?" Billy asked, carefully cutting a corner off his omelette. "Four applications is a lot of fucking paperwork."

"Billy, I've had _enough_ — "

"Lighten up," he muttered, mouth full. "I don't write my papers like that."

"I should hope not," Barbara said tartly, walking over to the fridge. She opened it, rummaged for two seconds, and came out with a container of yogurt. She brought it over to the table, took a brief, irritated glance at where Billy was sitting, and reached—

"Uh," Billy said, and put his feet up. Right across Joey's lap.

"Shit," Joey muttered, closing his eyes. _You're nothingness_.

He opened his eyes in time to see Billy's go wide as silver dollars as his feet dropped onto the chair with a gentle _thud_. Barbara just made an impatient sound and went for the only other chair available, which was right across from Joey. Billy in the middle.

"Do you have any plans for while you're home?" Barbara asked casually, peeling the foil off the top of her yogurt. "Have you been in touch with old friends?"

"Not really," Billy said, concentrating on his plate, which meant, _No_.

"Your dad sure didn't marry her for her conversation," Joey said, giving Barbara a pointed look across the small table. Man, she was one sorry-ass divorcée.

Billy just choked on his omelette, covering his mouth with his hand.

"Don't eat so fast," Barbara said, breaking the yogurt's smooth surface with her spoon.

"'M not," Billy managed, swallowing. He stared straight ahead, determined not to laugh.

"You have no plans at all?" Barbara asked, stirring the yogurt.

"None," Billy said flatly, cutting into his eggs again. "What's it to you?"

"I had expected as much," she said purposefully, taking up a spoonful of the pale pink goop, "so I took the liberty of making some for you."

Billy lifted his head in surprise, blinking at Joey before he remembered where he should be looking. "You _what_?" he asked incredulously, staring at his mother.

"I think it'll do you some good to get out," she said around a mouthful of yogurt, wiping a bit away from the corner of her mouth with her pinkie. "You need a bit of distraction."

"No, what he needs is to _focus_ ," Joey said, shocked at how angry he felt. There was no grounds for it; she was just doing what she figured was her twisted motherly duty.

Billy swung his legs down off Joey's chair, making Joey jump at the loss of joining.

"Mom, I've got a lot to do," Billy said, voice rising. "I mean it."

"Then you can work this afternoon," she said, carefully scooping out another spoonful, "and then get freshened up for tonight. "Do you remember Carole and Dan Robertson?"

"Sort of," Billy said, setting down his fork and wiping his hands on his boxers. "Why?"

"Their daughter's a year behind you in school," Barbara continued, looking pleased with herself. "She's home on break from Mercersburg."

"Kelly?" Billy echoed, and Joey felt his stomach drop with all the force of Billy's realization. "You mean to tell me you—she—"

"I told Carole that you'd be more than glad to take her to dinner, maybe a movie," Barbara said, tucking her hair behind her ears. "I'm paying, so don't worry about that."

Joey wasn't hearing this. He _wasn't_.

Billy just sat there, frozen, not even turning around.

"Well, what do you think? Is there anything out you've been interested in seeing?"

Billy took a deep breath, shaking like he was struggling for control.

"Mom," he said in a low voice, "I _really_ —"

"She's missed you," Barbara said, tone milder, but somehow more reproachful. "I don't think you'd do well to lose touch with _everyone_ , Billy."

Billy's hand fisted on the table, just six inches from Joey's.

"Billy, what's the most expensive thing in the living room?" Joey asked, feeling cold and detached, suddenly indifferent. He reached over, touching Billy's hand. "Billy—"

"I can't think," Billy hissed, snatching his hand away.

Barbara blinked at him for a second, almost fearful, then recovered her poise.

"That's why you're going out," she said, and stirred her yogurt some more.

Joey stood up and very, very carefully pushed his chair in.

Billy turned around and stared up at him, eyes empty, color draining.

"I said, what's the most expensive thing in the living room?" Joey repeated.

"Not now," Billy whispered. "Later."

Joey grabbed the back of the chair, clenching until he felt the wood give under his palms.

"You _can't_ be—"

"Billy?" Barbara's voice was half its normal volume, strange with fear.

Billy took another deep breath and turned his face away from Joey, rubbing his eyes with both hands. "Uh, never mind. Sorry about the chair. What time?"

Barbara just stared at him for a few more seconds, then busied herself scraping the yogurt container empty. She looked worse than Snuffy when _he_ needed a cigarette.

"Six," she said. "I told her you'd be there at six."

Billy nodded and got up, not bothering to take his unfinished omelette to the sink. He left the kitchen in no particular hurry, but he didn't look back at Joey or his mother.

"Fuck," Joey said, and bolted after him. At least Billy couldn't lock him out of anywhere.

"I know what you're going to say," Billy said, once they were safe in his room. He was standing at the foot of the bed, facing the far wall, head bowed, hand over his mouth.

"No, you don't," Joey said, coming up beside him, grabbing his hand. No matter how badly he wanted to break something that Barbara would never be able to replace, he had to stay calm. This was Billy like he hadn't been since September. This…

"I shouldn't let her do that," Billy said, staring at the floor. "Thing is, she doesn't—"

"That still doesn't make it right," Joey said softly, bringing Billy's hand up to his mouth.

"Yeah," Billy sighed, squeezing Joey's fingers. "It's just, why didn't she warn me?"

Joey frowned against the back of Billy's hand.

"I see your point."

Billy closed his eyes and nodded, steeling himself, then looked up again, forcing a smile.

"Can't be all that bad, right? Kelly and I were in diapers together. I bet she thinks this is lame-ass, too. God, parents are stupid. _Fuckers_."

"I still want to know what's the most expensive thing in the living room," Joey said, reaching up to brush a tear away from the corner of Billy's eye with his thumb.

"That God-awful lamp," Billy said, laughing.

"I'll keep that in mind," Joey said. "She's off the hook this time."

"Well, I've got applications," Billy said, shaking Joey's hand for a second before dropping it. "Wanna help?"

"Are you stupid? Of _course_ I'll help," Joey said. "But we're gonna shower first."

" _We're_ gonna shower?"

"Are you kidding? I feel violated," Joey said, tugging him toward the bathroom.

"One of these days, I'll burn her underwear drawer," Billy muttered, following him.

After they'd finished, Billy decided that maybe it was good luck to do college applications naked, so he decided not to get dressed. By noon, the bed was covered with papers, torn envelopes, and course catalogs, and they lay kissing in the middle of it all.

"This isn't quite," Billy admitted, licking Joey's shoulder, "what I had in mind."

"It's not too bent," Joey said, half sitting up, pulling the Harvard application from under his hip. Fuck. They really should be more careful. He pushed it all to the foot of the bed, surveying the pages for smudged ink, but there didn't seem to be any.

"Maybe it's even better luck to make out on 'em," Billy said, hopeful.

"If you get accepted to all four, I guess we'll have our answer," Joey said, sprawling across Billy's chest. The pen was just inches from his head, uncapped. Tempting.

"What the—" Billy frowned as Joey reached up, then tried to get away.

"Nope," Joey said, pinning him harder. "Hold _still_ ," he said, bringing the ball-point down against Billy's collarbone. "I'm not gonna ruin you, I promise."

"You are so fucking weird," Billy muttered, letting his head drop back, defeated.

 _SEX_ , Joey wrote. "You bet."

Billy lifted his chin, then let his head drop again, groaning with laughter.

"You _didn't_."

"I had to get you back for that. You brought it upon yourself."

"In that case," Billy said, prying the pen out of Joey's hand and tossing it across the room, "you'd better make good on that promise."

By three o'clock, it was a wonder that any of the applications were finished (except for the essays), let alone that they'd survived without some kind of questionable marking.

Barbara knocked on the door at three-thirty, asking if Billy wanted lunch.

"Nope, I'll get it myself," Billy shouted, burying his nose deeper in Joey's hair.

"Blow out my eardrum, why don't you," Joey murmured, feeling unreasonably sleepy.

"You don't have eardrums."

"I can _hear_ you," Joey pointed out, nipping Billy's jaw.

"Never mind," Billy said, rubbing circles at the small of Joey's back.

They must have slept for a while, because the next thing Joey knew, there was harder knocking than before and an urgent voice behind it, urgent enough to be yelling.

"Billy! Billy, do you _know_ what time it is?"

Billy flinched, then gasped, shaking himself awake. "Huh?"

"Time," Joey hissed, giving him a gentle shove. "She said—"

" _Fuck_ ," Billy muttered, disentangling himself from Joey, rubbing his eyes.

" _Billy_!"

"I'm up!" he shouted, staggering off the bed, staring around the room. He raced to his duffel bag and dug until he came up with a pair of clean boxers. "What time is—"

"Five forty-five," Barbara said, and walked away, footsteps heavier than they should be.

"Shit," Billy mumbled, tripping into the boxers, then stopped, glancing up miserably.

Joey sat up and sighed, thinking of what he'd wear if he was forced to do this. It came.

"Of course I'm coming with you," he said, swinging his legs off the bed, frowning at how the old dress shoes felt. "Relax."

"I still want to know how you do that," Billy said, reaching for his bag again.

"Practice," Joey said, and sat back down to watch him dress.

The Robertsons lived across town, which meant driving through downtown, passing through Yale in all its pretentious, Neo-Gothic glory. Joey pressed his hand against his window, sighing. The glass was cold, and it fogged only faintly.

"Snuffy's applying here," he said.

Billy just nodded, coming to a stop at the light.

"Good theater program."

"Yeah," Joey said, sitting back as the light turned green.

Billy parked on the curb, not bothering with the Robertsons' driveway. It was small, never mind how nice the house was, and it was already being hogged by an oversized pick-up truck and a white Mercedes-Benz. The juxtaposition made Joey laugh.

"Says it all," Billy muttered, opening his door. "Wait here," he said, leaning over to kiss Joey. Strangest fucking situation they'd ever been in, Joey realized, watching him go.

Billy stood alone on the porch for a few seconds, alone in the sickly orange glow of the light until the door opened inward, and somebody stepped up to give him a hug. Joey leaned against the car door, fingers splayed against the glass once more.

Inexplicably, he was outside, standing there watching.

"Hey," the girl was saying as she let go of Billy's shoulders, bouncing back on her heels, beaming. Her breath puffed trails in the chilly air, flickering like her eyes in the porchlight. They were blue, it looked like, or some other shade too light to tell.

"How've you been?" Billy asked, taking a step back, hands in his pockets.

"Not bad, yourself?" Kelly asked, still smiling warmly. She was… _pretty_. Dark brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, faint dusting of freckles across her coffee-and-cream cheeks.

"I've been better," Billy said, briefly glancing at his feet before looking up again. The smile was enough to break Joey's heart, and when Billy looked over, realizing he was there, Billy's face fell a second time. He cleared his throat and looked back at Kelly.

She frowned slightly, taking her turn to look down.

"Your mother told me," she said. "It was all over the news."

"Yeah, till fucking October," Billy said, letting hardness edge into his voice.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, looking up again. Her eyes were earnest; that made it hard to hate her. "I heard you lost a good friend."

Billy breathed in deeply, then started to nod, glancing briefly over at Joey.

"Yeah, I…did," he said slowly, then shook himself. "Look, um, would you mind if we didn't…"

"I understand," Kelly said, reaching out to touch his arm.

"Don't," Joey heard himself say, taking a step toward her.

"Don't," Billy said, looking straight at Joey.

Kelly let her hand drop, frowning at the porch again.

"Car's this way," Billy said, and started off across the grass.

When they got there, Billy exchanged another helpless look with Joey before opening the passenger side door for her, mouthing wordless apology once he'd closed it again.

"This is gonna be interesting," he sighed, then stepped up and opened the rear passenger door on the same side. "Hang on," he said into the car. "Just gotta check this door, it doesn't want to lock."

"Thanks," Joey said under his breath, slipping inside, giving Billy the okay to close it.

There wasn't much talk on the way to the restaurant. In the blur of half-mumbled catching up, Joey hadn't managed to catch and remember the name. Neither one of them was all that dressed up—Billy was in jeans and a collared shirt, nice shoes Joey hadn't known he had—and Kelly at least had pants on.

Joey hadn't felt this sick since the headmaster's office.

By the time they pulled into the restaurant parking lot, it had started to snow. Joey got out without bothering with the door, making sure Billy knew it. He stood to one side while Billy got the door for Kelly, then followed them inside. Every time Billy veered away from her, she made up for it by veering that many steps along with him.

"What's her problem?" Joey asked once they were inside, shaking the snow off their coats. "Don't let it get to you," Joey said, catching Billy's eye as he hung both their coats up on the hooks across from the hostess' stand.

Billy just gave him a look that seemed to say, _I can't answer you right now_.

Joey sighed, nodding, and furtively kicked the carpet.

"I haven't been here in a long time," Kelly said brightly, rubbing her hands together. She had on a blue sweater and calico corduroys. Her eyes looked almost violet.

"How many, sir?" asked the hostess. She wasn't much older than they were.

"Two," Billy said, hesitating.

Joey felt somewhat relieved as he followed them back through a sea of tables.

They got a booth, which was relieving, because Joey didn't hesitate to slide in beside Billy while Kelly took the opposite side. The place was wannabe-Italian, which was okay; there were worse things for restaurants to be. Billy picked up the menu, opening it.

"Bad sign," Joey said, frowning at the prices. Too high, like they were making up for something. "You see calzones for that much and you're in trouble."

"Not my problem," Billy said under his breath, tapping on his pocket, where he'd put his mother's credit card. He set the menu down, sighing, like he'd made up his mind.

Kelly was still looking it over, chewing on her lip, which might've been endearing if either one of them was actually interested in her, but mostly it was just irritating.

"What're you having?" she asked, glancing up tentatively.

"Spaghetti," Billy said.

"You just had that," Joey pointed out, reaching for the menu.

Billy pinned it down with his elbows. "And iced tea."

"Whatever," Joey said, putting his hands up.

"I think the specials look good," Kelly said, pulling out the small insert slip of paper.

"Whatever you want," Billy said, glancing out the window at the snow.

"Really?" Kelly asked, brightening, and Joey found it even harder to look at her.

"Watch out," he muttered under his breath.

Billy kicked Joey's ankle under the table, pushing the menu out to the edge.

"Yeah," he said, smiling at her. "What looks good?"

"Chicken Maria," she said, closing her menu and setting it on top of Billy's.

"I can't believe this," Joey muttered, head in hands.

The waiter got there a few seconds later, taking their orders with more pleasure than was warranted. Jesus Christ, they weren't a couple. You could _tell_ they weren't.

"It's funny, you know," she said, stirring her Diet Coke when it arrived. "I had been wondering what you were up to, and all of a sudden, there you were. On the news."

Billy took a sip of his tea, grimacing briefly, then shrugged.

"Pre-sweetened," Joey said into the heels of his hands.

Billy nudged his ankle again, but this time, it wasn't frustrated. He wrapped his foot around Joey's as much as their shoes would permit, tugging a little.

"I did what I had to do," he said, then took another sip.

"I can't imagine," Kelly said, wide-eyed. "Did anybody else die?"

"Fuck you," Joey said, glaring. What kind of question was that?

"Yeah," Billy said, tensing up. "Two other people, not counting their guys."

"Students?" Kelly asked, somewhat paler than before.

"No," Billy said, picking the lemon out of his ice. He unwrapped his silverware and dropped it on the napkin, scooting it over at Joey.

"What the—"

Billy gave him a look that said, _Be creative_.

"Teachers, then?"

"One teacher, one security guard."

Joey squished the lemon slice with his index finger, then sucked on this fingertip.

"I guess you're lucky you got out of there," Kelly said, leaning forward on her elbows. She was ignoring her drink now, completely focused on Billy.

Billy sat back, sighing.

"You might say that. We're back in session, though. We weren't out for long."

"I'm surprised they didn't close it," she said thoughtfully. "Must've been a mess."

"Real winner here," Joey said, poking the lemon slice again. "Your mom's got _taste_."

Billy actually did kick him this time.

"Yeah, but you know how it goes. Stiff upper lip, march on."

"You seem to be doing all right," Kelly said in admiration, voice dropping shyly.

"As well as I can," Billy said truthfully, but Joey knew he wanted to roll his eyes.

They were mostly quiet through the salads, which gave Joey the chance to blow off steam. Having to suck lemon juice off his fingers wasn't his idea of a good time, and Kelly's lemon was just going to waste, drowned at the bottom of her tasteless diet crap.

"…and the newspaper, does Regis have one? I've been managing editor since last fall," Kelly said proudly, pushing around the onions and olives she'd left in the excess dressing.

"That's great," Billy said. "Regis has a paper, but nobody reads it. Comes out once a month."

"That's sad," Kelly said, leaning back as the waiter took their plates away, replacing them with steaming ones. "Ours is a weekly. We've won a couple awards."

"That's great."

"I always wanted a literary magazine," Joey said, "but Regis has never had one, and my junior high sure didn't."

"Does your school have a literary magazine?" Billy asked.

"Yes," Kelly said, "but I'm no creative writer. That crew weirds me out."

"Strike two," Joey said, giving the lemon a last poke before the waiter whisked it away.

From there, conversation took several new turns, each more boring than the last: sports, clubs, neighborhood gossip. Billy was paying more attention than Joey thought he should, but then, he was on this ridiculous must-be-attentive-to-others kick.

"Are you applying to college?" Kelly asked, spearing some green beans on her fork.

"Yep," Billy said, picking at his spaghetti more than actually eating it. "Four."

"Which ones?"

"I'm surprised your mom didn't tell hers," Joey said, wishing he could steal some spaghetti. He wondered if it would be worth doing something to freak her out a bit.

"Harvard, M.I.T., UConn, UMass."

"I always thought you a good one for M.I.T. You and your pranks."

Billy set his fork down, blinking at her.

"How'd you remember that?"

"You made sixth grade interesting," she said. "We were sorry to see you go."

Careful emphasis on the _we_. Too careful, even.

"I'm sure the administration wasn't," Billy said, picking his fork back up.

"I'm not the administration," Kelly said, looking him straight in the eye, unblinking.

Billy let his eyes drop to his plate.

"Um, that's a good thing," he said, scraping what was left to the side closest to Joey.

Joey swiped a bit of marinara sauce and tasted it, then wrinkled his nose.

"Ugh."

"Do you want to share dessert?" Kelly asked, apparently finished with her chicken.

"Not really," Billy said. "I'm full."

"You hardly ate," she protested, almost pouting.

"Oh, God," Joey muttered. He wanted to toss a piece of spaghetti at her, or worse.

"Mind if I have something?" Kelly asked.

"Be my guest," Billy said, folding one arm across his stomach. That meant he probably felt sick. Joey reached over and caught his hand under the table, stroking the back.

"No movie," Joey said firmly.

Billy laughed shortly, shaking his head, and looked right at Joey. _My thoughts exactly_.

Kelly ordered tiramisu, which was fucking predictable, and it wasn't even going to be _good_ tiramisu. It was good to have the plates out of the way, though. Joey scooted over and leaned against Billy; he couldn't help it. Billy still had his writing on.

"Not bad," she said, licking the fork off. "Want some?"

"No thanks," Billy said, staring at the mess of a confection. Where were the ladyfingers?

"If you change your mind…" She smiled and took another bite, slowly.

"Not yours," Joey said quietly, tightening his hold on Billy's hand. "Never."

"Shhh," Billy said, squeezing back.

"Sorry," Kelly said, glancing up. "Am I too loud? Mom always says—"

"No," Billy said, reaching for his tea. "It's nothing."

Joey scowled and pressed his mouth against Billy's shoulder, wishing it would end.

 

* * *

 

Any more of this and Billy was going to fucking _lose_ it.

"Sorry to take so long," Kelly said, sweeping her hair up again as she came out of the ladies' room. "Are we off?"

"Yeah," Billy said, pushing off from the bench, wrapping his scarf a bit tighter.

Joey stopped his pacing in front of the doors and said, "Finally."

Billy held the door for both of them, avoiding Kelly's eyes. What the _fuck_ was up with that? Sure, they might've been twelve the last time they'd seen each other, but he didn't remember her being _this_ much of a shameless flirt.

"It's so clear," she said once they were in the parking lot, staring up at the stars.

Joey was close beside Billy, and their hands kept brushing as they walked.

"There's Orion," he said quietly, pointing up.

" _Joey_ ," Billy whispered, biting his lip. _Not now_.

"What?" Kelly said, stopping, coming down to earth again.

"Nothing," Billy said, and kept walking.

"Would you cut that out?" Joey asked sharply, giving his arm a tug.

Billy just looked at him, making a frustrated gesture. _I can't answer you!_

"It's not 'nothing,'" Joey said, tone almost venomous.

Billy's breath caught painfully in his chest. _No, of course not_.

"Then stop saying it," Joey said, and looked the other way.

"Just great," Billy muttered, fishing the keys out of his pocket.

Joey got in the front seat before Billy could even get the door open, leaving him with a really huge fucking conundrum. He thought for a second, trying not to panic, then met Kelly's confused glance, forcing himself to smile.

"Um, would…would you mind sitting in the back? The front door hasn't been locking, either."

"Really?" she said. "I hadn't noticed."

"Yeah," Billy said hastily, unlocking the driver's side door. "Problem car. Door behind me's been just fine, though. Don't want you to go falling out or anything."

"You're sweet," Kelly said, and touched his arm as he held the door for her.

"Fucking back _off_ ," Joey said, leaning over so far between the front seats that he was almost in her face. Billy shut the door, not wanting to see if she'd react.

Billy got in and started up the car, ignoring the look Joey shot him as he settled back in his own seat. He concentrated on getting the car out of the parking spot, then out of the lot and onto the boulevard. If he could just get her home, things would be fine.

"Where to?" Kelly asked, buckling her seatbelt.

"Uh," Billy said, keeping an eye on the car in front of him. "I hadn't planned anything else, actually. I'm kinda tired. Spent all day working on applications."

"I think the new Robin Hood movie is still playing at one of the indie theaters downtown," Kelly said, trying to sound thoughtful and failing miserably.

"Ah," Billy said. "Heard it was okay. Kevin Costner isn't really my thing."

"We could check the showtimes," Kelly pressed. "It's not too far."

"Look, I…" Billy sighed, stopping at the light. "I really am worn out."

Kelly sat back, sighing.

"I'm sorry. I understand."

"No, it's okay," Billy said, glad he had something else to be looking at.

Joey was absolutely silent, drumming his fingers against the door handle.

From there, it took all of three minutes to get back to Robertsons', and he pulled up along the curb in the same place he'd parked before, bringing the car to a stop. Kelly unbuckled her belt, stretching with a yawn. Billy got out of the car and opened her door, peering in at Joey as she walked past him into the street.

"Stay here," he mouthed.

Joey's eyes burned into him, hard in the dimness.

"No," he said, turning, and slipped through the door like water.

"Shit," Billy breathed, and slammed the back door to cover it.

He tried to keep his distance from Kelly as they walked up to her front porch, but she did the same goddamned thing that she'd done before, following the diagonal that his path was starting to form. Going up the front steps, they knocked elbows a few times.

"Sorry," she murmured for the third time, tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear.

"Don't worry about it," Billy said, glancing nervously over her shoulder. Joey was standing beside the front door, which was closed, hands in his pockets, eyes cold.

"I had fun," Kelly said, looking up at him boldly, taking a step forward.

"Um, thanks," Billy said, shifting from one foot to the other.

"I mean it," she said, and closed the distance faster than Billy could backpedal.

Kelly's hand was cold against his cheek, but her lips were warm and faintly sticky, which meant that she was probably wearing lipstick. The kiss lasted only a second, but the sensation seemed to stretch into the long seconds afterward, and Joey—Joey was—

"You," he said, tone quiet and rasping, murderous, "are dead."

Billy could hardly collect his thoughts. All he knew was that he mumbled something—"I'm sorry, good night, gotta go"—and grabbed Joey's wrist before he could lunge at Kelly, dragging him off the porch and into the darkness, not daring to look back.

"Billy, let me _go_!" Joey was shouting, struggling to get free. "She just—I can't fucking _believe_ she just—"

"Let it go," Billy whispered numbly, pulling so hard on Joey's wrist that he felt Joey stumble.

"I hate her," Joey whispered, finally yanking free while Billy opened the driver's side door. "I fucking _hate_ —"

"Get in the car," Billy hissed.

"She doesn't deserve what she got," Joey said, and spit in the direction of the house before sliding over the driver's seat and into the passenger's side. "Bitch."

"If you don't shut up," Billy said, gripping the steering wheel, shaking, "I'm gonna puke."

Joey sucked in his breath, abruptly still.

"Fuck," he whispered. "I'm—"

"Don't say it," Billy said, fumbling the key into the ignition. "You have nothing to apologize for, and you know it." He started the car up and screeched into the cul-de-sac, taking the curve at least ten miles an hour faster than he should.

" _Billy_ —"

"I've got it," he said, breathing fast, slowing just before the stop sign. "I've got it."

"You're so fucking lucky I can't drive like this."

"You _could_ drive like this," Billy said, strange hysteria rising in his throat. He squashed it down, hating the fact that he even felt like laughing in the sickest, darkest way possible. "Don't tell me you couldn't."

Joey sat back, arms folded tightly across his chest.

"Don't fucking tempt me."

They didn't say another word the whole way back to the house, and it was the longest five minutes of Billy's life. Yale whizzed by them at twice its normal speed, and it dimly occurred to Billy that if fast driving could still make Joey nervous, _anything_ could.

And then he realized _why_ , and felt the sharp burn of bile at the back of his throat.

"Jesus," he whispered, slowing down.

"Are you gonna be all right?" Joey asked, reaching over to touch his arm. He sounded sheepish and afraid, like he usually sounded when he'd overreacted and knew it, except this _wasn't_ an overreaction, and _both_ of them knew it.

"Maybe," Billy said, and sucked in a deep breath. Two more streets.

When he pulled into the driveway, it was empty, which meant either that his mother was out, or that the other car was inside it. He desperately hoped she was gone, because she was the last person he wanted to see right now, her intentions be _damned_.

Joey leaned over once he'd gotten the car into park, frantically taking hold of Billy's shoulders, trying to pull him close, so desperate he was vibrating with it.

"Billy, look, I didn't mean—but _fuck_ , she really, I—God, I'm—"

"Be quiet," Billy begged, wrapping both arms around him, trapping him still. "Please, just be quiet. I can't deal with this, okay? I can't believe I put you through this."

"You didn't know she was gonna put the moves on."

"I never should have agreed to—"

"Your mom's a fucking inconsiderate whore."

"Wow," Billy said, then sat motionless, shocked into silence.

"Well, she is," Joey said, words muffled against Billy's neck.

"Let's go inside," Billy sighed, stroking Joey's hair. "It's cold."

Barbara was waiting at the kitchen table, huddled over a cup of coffee with a lit cigarette in her other hand, staring idly at the ceiling. Billy went right past the doorway, turning into the living room. Maybe she'd just go to bed if he turned the television on.

Joey sat down on the couch, already barefoot and coatless. He pulled his feet up and tucked them under himself, idly staring at the screen while Billy flipped a few channels.

"Nothing," Billy muttered, sighing, and set the remote back on the coffee table.

Just as he was about to sit down, Barbara came in, coffee abandoned. The cigarette trailed a thin plume of smoke, and it was amazing that she wasn't worrying about ash on the carpet. There was something loose about her, unfocused. Whiskey in the coffee.

"You're back early," she said, blowing a bit of smoke back over her shoulder.

"I thought you quit," Billy said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Old habits die hard," Barbara said, but she snuffed it out with a pinch, which made Billy cringe. He'd never seen her do something like that, or maybe only with candles.

"Actually, I meant the booze," Billy said, bitterness flooding him before he could check it.

Barbara stared at him, then made the you're-in-trouble face she used to make when he was five. She set the cigarette down carefully on the stand beside the armchair, just beside the favorite lamp, then came a few steps closer to him, not quite glaring.

"I'm going to give you until the count of ten to take that back," she said, voice low, devoid of patience. "One," she began. "Two—"

"I had a lousy time," Billy said, looking her straight in the eyes. "There, are you happy?"

"You were supposed to take her to a movie. What's so difficult about that?"

"Because I didn't come home to go on a fucking blind date, okay?" Billy said, trying to keep from shouting. "What's so difficult about _that_?"

For a fleeting second, his mother's eyes rounded with a look of fear that Billy hadn't seen since the day somebody called to tell her that his father had started dating again.

"You need," she said slowly, taking a careful, measured breath, "to get over him."

It took Billy all of two seconds to take her meaning, but Joey took it sooner.

"You fucking _cunt_ ," he snarled, and dived off the couch just as Billy reeled backward. Joey choked at the impact and fell backwards, sprawling onto the couch.

"I'm giving _you_ ," Billy hissed, regaining his balance, jabbing his finger at her chest, "to the count of _nothing_ to take that back, _do you understand me_?"

Barbara took a step backwards, lost and vulnerable for a second before regaining her own footing and meeting him halfway, eye for eye, shaking from head to toe.

"Did you think I didn't know?" she asked, incredulous, slapping Billy's hand down. "Did you think for even a _second_ that you could hide—"

"I think," Billy hissed, catching her hand and twisting it, "that you went nosing around where you had no goddamned business nosing around!"

" _Jesus_ ," Joey breathed from the couch, breaking the ringing in Billy's ears, terrified.

"Billy," Barbara was pleading," _please_. Billy, let—"

"Take it back," Billy said, twisting her hand back harder.

Barbara cried out in pain, which would have been enough to shatter everything alone, except Joey was on him now, hands desperate at his shoulders, whispering.

"Not worth it," he was saying. "Not worth _that_ , Jesus _fuck_ , Billy, let—"

Billy let go of his mother's hand, gasping for breath, only then realizing he was in tears.

"I only wanted," Barbara whispered, head down, wrist clutched to her chest, "to get you through this. I don't know what it's going to take, but you _can't_ —"

"It's not for you to get him through, you fucking moron," Joey said, wrapping his arms around Billy's middle, holding him fast. "Do you hear me? _Not for you_."

That was funny as hell, and God, what else could he do but _laugh_?

"Um, no, I don't think she can."

Barbara looked up, cheeks tearstained, eyes wild and reddened.

"I didn't say anything," she said, taking a step towards him.

The slap hit before Billy realized she'd even raised her hand.

Joey let go of him as quickly as he'd taken hold.

"That's _it_."

Just as Billy recovered himself enough to find his arms again, to look his mother in the face, size her down and take his aim, what the _fuck_ did it matter anymore if he did her permanent damage or not, the lamp came crashing off the table, shards flying as far as the coffee table, scattering between Barbara's bare feet and Billy's sock-covered ones.

"Let it go," Joey said, breathless, standing beside the armchair, surverying the damage he'd done. "Billy, that's enough. I've got her."

Barbara stared at the shards as if she couldn't comprehend what she was seeing, then looked up slowly, dreamer in a dazed nightmare, giving Billy a frozen look.

"Bad karma, I guess," Billy said, taking a deep, shuddering breath. He felt like his legs were going to give out on him. Joey was looking at him desperately, beckoning.

"You're very lucky," Barbara said, voice dry and broken, "that it was an accident. At least you've given up _something_ ," she added, might as well have spat it.

"What makes you think that?" Billy said, stepping carefully around the broken porcelain, keeping her in his peripheral vision as he made his way over to Joey.

"You have nobody to show off for."

"Oh, fuck _you_ ," Joey hissed, taking hold of Billy's arm and tugging him in. "Billy, we've gotta get out of here or I'll—"

"Yeah," Billy said, taking hold of Joey's hand and starting for the hallway as fast as his feet would carry him, as desperately as they wanted to go back and kick every last piece of broken porcelain at her pale, sorry, painted face. "Except that has nothing to do with it, really. This conversation's over."

"It's not," Barbara said, and there was the sound of shards against other shards, perhaps being gathered up in the palm of her hand. "What I said is true. You know that."

"Yeah," Billy shouted back over his shoulder, pushing Joey ahead of him into the darkened hall, "and I'm fine with that, Mom. How's it feel to know your son's gay?"

The only response he got was the sound of choked sobbing, the sound of pieces breaking.

"Oh, God," Billy whispered, hands out to meet his door, but Joey had already pushed it open, and it was Joey dragging him forward, tugging him inside, reaching for the wall.

"She deserved it," Joey said quietly, and turned on the light, and there nothing except for the sound of his voice, and his arms, his _arms_ : too strong to be delusion, and strong enough for two.

"Yeah," Billy whispered, and clung to him.

 

* * *

 

Joey didn't sleep all night, and when dawn broke through the blinds, Billy didn't wake up.

 _Happy Thanksgiving_ , he thought, squinting at the window.

Stranger things had probably happened in a year, Joey reflected, but he would bet any amount of money that what they'd been through from start to finish was probably the kind of thing that Shakespeare would've given his right arm to set upon the stage.

Yet what it came down to was a simple, straightforward thing: lying here, dead, with Billy, dead to the world and tear-stained, sleeping so soundly he hadn't moved all night.

Joey said the word to himself until it lost meaning: _dead_.

If this was Purgatory, they'd done a damned good job designing it, only Joey was pretty sure that the living weren't supposed to be suffering on his account, too.

Billy stirred, mumbling something indistinct in his sleep.

"Shhh," Joey whispered, and kissed his forehead.

Well, if that was the case, Purgatory could go hang. He was in the world, and that was that. It was all he could do to keep from wondering what kind of test this was, wondering how much time he had—if it was even a matter of having time.

Easier to think he had all the time in the world, so that's what he'd been doing.

"Joey?" Billy mumbled, voice thick, still raw with pain.

"M'here," Joey said, rubbing his back.

"Wasn't a nightmare, was it?"

"I'm afraid not," Joey said, and kissed his forehead again.

Billy sighed heavily, burying his face in Joey's t-shirt.

"It've gotta get out of here. Today."

"Your dad was planning on getting you tomorrow, right?"

"Gotta call him," Billy said, lifting his head with sudden determination. "What time's it?"

"Eleven," Joey said, glancing over at the clock. "Almost."

"Great, that means she's still in bed," Billy said. He kissed Joey quickly, then got up.

 _She_. Even as a pronoun, Barbara made him shudder.

"C'mon," Billy was saying into the phone, rapping on his desk. "Pick up, pick—um, hi. Dad?"

Joey breathed a sigh of relief. Hell, he would have been relieved if Billy had been on the phone with _his_ father. He was right about getting out of there.

"Yeah. Yeah. Listen, I don't want to go into details, okay? She's psycho. Can't stay here. Look, I'm sorry about that, but this _is_ an emergency, all right?"

Joey sat up, staring across the room, chewing his lip. It hurt to hear Billy beg.

"Yes, we— _yes_. We had a fight. No, it _wasn't_ about my grades, my grades are fucking great and I've got a paper to prove it. Yes. Dad, look, I—"

"All you have to do is say she raised a hand to you, right?"

Billy turned around and stared at him, almost dragging the phone off the desk.

"You're not eighteen yet," Joey pointed out. "Look, I'm just trying to be—"

"Dad, fuck, just—I _know_ you have plans for later, but this is _really_ … Dad. Look, it's beneath my dignity to say this, and I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but…" Billy chewed on his lip, hesitating, even though he'd apparently succeeded in getting his father to listen for five seconds.

He covered the mouthpiece and hissed, "I grabbed her first!"

"She didn't retaliate immediately," Joey said, knowing it was a lame-duck argument.

"She hit me," Billy said through gritted teeth.

Joey covered his eyes and cringed. Shit, he should just keep his mouth shut.

"Yes," Billy said clearly. "Yes, really."

A few seconds and a terse goodbye later, Billy hung up the phone, sighing.

"He said he'll be on his way in half an hour."

Billy was quiet in the shower, and Joey wasn't about to press him. For the moment, there was soap and hot water, kiss and touch. No more than that, though; nothing that had happened in the past twenty-four hours even _remotely_ permitted playfulness. Billy was frozen, a swimmer who'd slipped beneath the ice. Joey held him under the jet and steam, running his fingers over the last of the scabbing, flicking it down the drain.

Joey was finishing packing Billy's bag—not like he'd unpacked much to begin with—when the doorbell rang. Billy froze in the middle of buttoning his shirt.

"Shit."

"There," Joey said, shoving the clothes down enough so he could zip the bag.

Billy finished buttoning his shirt in a hurry, running around till he located his tennis shoes, then shoved his feet into them hard enough to make Joey wince.

"Gotta get out there," he said. "If she's not awake, that'll get her."

It felt like something out of a bad dream, still, walking down the hall behind Billy while he lugged his duffel bag alone, then stepping into the entryway to find Barbara and David facing each other in almost the same way they'd faced each other the year before.

Except Barbara wasn't looking at Billy, and she wasn't really looking at David, either.

"Hey," David said brightly, smiling at his son. "All ready to go."

"Yeah," Billy said, letting his father take his bag off of him. "Hey."

"I called Mirabelle and told them we have an extra person coming," David said to Billy, but Joey could tell it was strictly for his ex-wife's benefit. "You liked it there, didn't you? Christmas two years ago, I think. Killer steak?"

"Yeah," Billy said. "I did."

"Anyway, we'd better get on the road," David said, glancing in Barbara's direction. "As much as I'd like to stay and chat."

Barbara looked up at David, one venomous glance of pure hatred, then turned, leaving them. Joey let out his breath and returned Billy's wide-eyed glance.

"Happy Thanksgiving," Billy called after her, and followed his father out.

When Joey realized what was left to him, he slammed the door as hard as he could.

The ride was something of a blur, mostly because Billy curled into one of the back-seat corners and fell asleep about fifteen minutes into the ride, and lacking enough presence for David to even strike up a conversation, Joey just curled up against Billy and dozed.

David didn't try bringing up the subject of _why_ until evening.

"You and your mother have had your bad patches," David said, shaving a careful line from lower lip to chin, frowning at his reflection, "but I must admit I'm pretty shocked."

Billy stared at the floor, wiggling his toes inside his socks. Joey touched his elbow, a silent _I'm still here_. Billy took a deep breath and leaned on the doorframe.

"It was about what happened back in September," he said. "Sort of."

"You're a hero, son," David said dubiously, frowning as he shaved another swath. "I can't understand why she'd start a fight about that."

"I kind of started it," Billy said, staring at the floor again.

Joey squeezed his arm gently.

"Did you have a good reason?"

"Yes," Billy said, wrapping his arms around himself. "She set me up."

David set his razor down and wiped his chin off with the hand towel.

"I'm not sure I follow."

"Date," Billy muttered. "She set me up with Kelly Robertson."

"If you didn't want to go," David said, hanging the towel up again, "then why didn't you just tell her that?"

"She wasn't having any of it, and I've been seeing this counselor at school. He says I shouldn't shut people out, you know?"

David looked at his son again, almost as if he'd never seen him before.

"You're going to counseling?"

"Yeah," Billy said. "One of the chaplains."

"Do you mind my asking why?"

"Jesus, is it so hard to believe?" Joey asked, knowing he'd get no answer. _Still_.

"Why do you _think_?" Billy shot back, instantly irritable.

David sighed, tapping his razor off in the sink.

"Losing someone is never easy," he said.

"Yeah," Billy said. "But I was kinda young when both of your parents went."

Joey glanced at Billy, questioning. He'd never mentioned his grandparents.

"I've never lost a close friend," David said, clearly struggling for the right thing to say. "I imagine it's completely different."

"It's like losing half of yourself," Billy said, not even hesitating.

That was when Joey had to turn away, get as far away as he possibly could, because time and memory and pain, inevitably, would call him back to Billy's side, call him home.

Except _home_ was quiet, vast, and dark, and the stillness of his room was unending, except for the distant sound of Gina's laughter from downstairs.

Like a beacon through the blackness, he followed it.

 

* * *

 

Somehow, it was a relief to have Joey gone. As soon as he caught himself thinking it, Billy bit his knuckles and tried to ignore the fact that he was sitting between his father and some nameless work associate, and that they were at a table of about ten people.

Every fucking holiday, _some_ fucking holiday, his father got him in a tux.

When somebody proposed a toast, Billy raised his glass, then downed all of it.

Every time his mind wandered, he found himself wondering where Joey was. Sulking in Billy's bedroom, probably, or stalking the Park they'd walked to last year.

 _Fuck_.

Billy rubbed his eyes and stared at his plate, which was still full of salad.

"If you don't care for it," his father whispered, "I'll take it."

"By all means," Billy said, and waved his hand.

The main course was better, because you didn't _have_ to have turkey. There were three different choices, and Billy went with the steak, even if he suspected he'd be paying for it later. The last time he'd felt like this, he hadn't been able to eat much _or_ keep it down. His stomach churned, hungry and nauseous all at once.

At some point, one of his father's colleagues took an interest in what colleges he was applying to, and Billy was almost relieved. He could rattle that off like lines from a script. In the same breath, however, his mind turned to applications and Joey.

He ended up hiding in his dessert even though his stomach was sending smoke signals.

On the drive home, his father whistled to the radio. Not _Lady D'Arbanville_ this time, but _Oh Very Young_ was almost as bad, if not even worse.

Without a word, Billy changed the station.

There were no lights on when they entered the house, and Joey was nowhere to be found, no matter how many switches in empty rooms Billy switched. His stomach lurched when he peered down the basement stairs, and he made it to the bathroom barely in time.

He emptied his stomach once, twice, before he realized his father was standing over him.

"Billy," David said, bending to put a stiff hand on Billy's shoulder.

"Yeah," Billy gasped, grabbing for the toilet paper roll, missing on the first try. "M'fine."

"I wouldn't call this 'fine,'" his father said, grabbing a wad of it for him.

"Thanks."

"Are you ready to tell me what's really going on here?"

"I don't think you'd believe me," Billy said, which was at least half true. He wiped his mouth and tossed the wadded-up tissue into the toilet, then spat for good measure.

"Maybe not," David said, sitting down on the edge of the tub, "but I'm willing to try."

Billy rocked back and leaned against it, shivering.

"Mom thinks I'm not getting over this fast enough."

"Your mother never was much in the sympathy department."

"Yeah," Billy sighed, closing his eyes, putting his head between his knees. "Anyway, um…it was about Joey."

"You never told me what you meant," David said, and Billy could hear the frown in his voice. "About you starting the fight."

Billy chewed on his lip.

"She said something out of line, and I kind of…grabbed her wrist. I wanted to make her take it back, but she wouldn't."

"I see," his father said, which probably meant he didn't see at all.

"Anyway, I…look, _nobody_ treats Joey like that, okay? Like just a…a…thing. Like it's better that he doesn't exist now, because that's just bullshit," Billy said, and broke down before he could get a handle on what he was saying, what he hadn't _meant_ to say. He scrambled forward, gripping the toilet seat with both hands. _Fuck_.

"Easy," his father was saying quietly, rubbing his back. "Easy."

"It's… _not_ ," Billy choked out, screwing his eyes shut. "So _fucking_ hard."

"I'm sorry I couldn't be there," David said, so quietly it was almost inaudible.

"Thanks," Billy whispered. He rested his cheek against the cold porcelain and drifted.

He wasn't sure how much later it was when he found himself lying on his side on the bathroom floor with an old pillow bunched up under his head. The light was still on, but the hallway was dark, and he couldn't see any light coming from the office.

"Ow," Billy muttered, sitting up. His stomach didn't flip out again, thank God.

Getting back to his room was easy enough, except he felt dizzy, or maybe like his insides had been scooped out. Empty. And then he remembered _why_ , and thought of turning back. He gritted his teeth and braced himself against the wall, shivering.

 _Not like this_ , he told himself. _Not ever_.

He flipped the light switch in his room and staggered over to the bed, sinking down on the edge of the mattress. It was made up in the neat, vaguely perfunctory way that only his father could make a bed, and there was something comforting in that.

There was the reassurance that, even if you lost your love, life went on.

Billy stood up and turned the covers down, then found himself staring at familiar sheets. Some things, though, just refused to leave—stains, hopes, remembrances. He sat down again, running his fingers over the spots long dried, wondering how long such a thing would survive if left to itself like that, covered in nothing but other sheets, a shroud.

The emptiness was unbearable.

"Don't do this," he whispered, winding his fingers in the sheets. " _Don't_."

"I would never," Joey said, and the mattress sagged behind him.

"Oh, fuck," Billy sobbed, turning blindly. " _God_. Joey, don't—"

"Never, it was never an option, I wouldn't—"

"But you—"

"Went home," Joey said, stroking Billy's hair, real and solid and _there_ again. "That's all. Hey, shhh. That's _all_ , okay? Gina says hello."

"Oh, God," Billy muttered, realizing he was slobbering on Joey's shirt.

"Yeah," Joey said, sounding kind of disoriented. "It's the weirdest thing. I'll be in trouble when she starts saying more," he added. "Gotta be careful."

"How's your dad?" Billy asked, automatic reflex.

"Quiet," Joey admitted. "He's…kind of lost."

"Can you help him?"

"Don't think so," Joey sighed, massaging Billy's neck. "He's got his own hell to work through."

"You know, I never really thought about it, but he's been through a lot."

"Don't remind me," Joey whispered.

"Sorry," Billy said, holding him tight.

"Lights out," Joey said softly, as if there was no better way to break things off, and for all Billy knew, there wasn't. They'd both been to hell and back in the space of a few hours, hours that stretched back into days, weeks, months, and someday, maybe, years.

"Yeah," Billy said, and got up, reaching to bring down the darkness.

What mattered was that neither one of them was alone in it.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the weekend was quiet, except for a few loud phone conversations that drifted out from behind the closed door of David's office. Billy just glanced up at Joey from the application he was working on, then kept writing. They both knew who it was.

David didn't bother Billy at all on Saturday, which was more than they could've asked for in Connecticut. Billy got everything done on the last two applications, leaving the essays as he had on the others. Not in this frame of mind, Joey advised him. You have time.

"They're due in January," Billy said, burrowing against Joey's chest. "It's almost December."

"You can write the same essay for all four and just modify it," Joey said. "Write the essay with the one you _really_ want in mind, that way it'll come out better."

"You know I'll never get in."

"You don't have to apply there, you know, just because I did."

Oh, shit. He shouldn't have said that.

Billy sat up, skewing the covers, and frowned at him.

"Just because you _did_?"

Joey wanted to disappear, but that wouldn't go over so well after last night.

"Lots of people get them in early," he said weakly.

"As early as fucking _September_?"

"Yeah. I guess. Why are you looking at me like that?"

Billy covered his face with his hands, sucking in a muffled breath.

"Joey, can you promise me something?"

Joey sat up, feeling sick and panicked.

"Yeah, sure. Anything."

"Don't do that again. Ever," he said shakily, letting his hands drop.

"Got it," Joey said quietly, reaching for them.

Sunday morning brought a knock at the door and David's tentative question: did Billy want breakfast? Billy just yawned and rolled over into the pillows, but Joey jabbed his side.

"You haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon."

"Aw, fuck," Billy sighed. "Fine."

In the kitchen, watching David flip pancakes with careful deliberation, Joey remembered just how good a cook the guy actually was, and how much Billy was like that at the stove.

"When would you like to get back ro Regis?" David asked, setting a plate in front of his son. "Afternoon, evening? My schedule's pretty open."

"Afternoon's fine," Billy said, cutting a piece of pancake.

Joey couldn't help but notice David's fleeting look of disappointment.

The school wasn't quiet when they returned. Left and right, guys were getting back, wandering through the halls in groups, looking for friends. While Billy lugged the duffel bag over to his closet, Joey lingered at the door before closing it, listening to somebody gripe about the library being closed, because he had a fucking exam the next day.

"Shit, homework," Joey said. "You caught up on homework?"

"English reading," Billy said. "That's all I've got."

"Man, they're usually bad about that," Joey said, frowning.

"Not like I ever did it till the last minute anyway."

"Yeah, but that's weird."

"They're going really easy on everybody, y'know."

"I guess that makes sense," Joey said, nodding.

"I'd better do that," Billy sighed, walking over to the desk.

Joey stepped up behind him and kissed the top of his head, then walked over to retrieve his book from where it sat on the floor beside the bed, by now a little dusty.

"I'll be here."

Phil stopped by later that evening, but he didn't stay for long. He told them that Ric had hardly wanted to leave the room the entire time, probably because the school was all but fucking empty and all those dark corridors weren't helping his paranoia in the least.

The next couple of days swung them back into the routine of things, and that seemed to be just what Billy needed. It was kind of remarkable to see somebody as set against the system as Billy clinging to it as if his very life depended on it. Maybe, in a way, it did.

Billy's midterms came back with marks that impressed even Parker, so there wasn't much reason for him to be called in to the office after that, at least the way Joey saw it, but Parker seemed to have taken it upon himself to make sure Billy was going to survive.

"Father Green told me that you spoke with him back in October," Parker said, gathering up a bunch of stray magazines into a neat stack on his coffee table.

"Yeah," Billy said, nodding, elbows resting on his knees. Joey perched on the arm of the chair he was sitting in, one hand on Billy's back. He'd gotten into the habit of keeping unobtrusive contact when he could. If he fell behind, Billy would glance around wildly, lost for a moment, until Joey caught up again. God, he regretted Thanksgiving.

"You didn't tell me that," Joey said. Hell, _he_ hadn't talked to the priest in ages.

"Well?" Parker prompted. "Do you feel that it did you any good? He's asked after you."

"Uh, yeah," Billy said, eyebrows raised, nodding. "I think so."

"I'm not convinced, Billy."

"Don't tell me that's where you got the whole focusing on others thing," Joey said, suddenly understanding. "Look, maybe that was true, but not at the expense—"

"I had some problems at home," Billy said, head in hands.

Parker frowned instantly, leaning forward.

"With your mother or your father?"

"Mother," Billy said, sitting the word out like poison.

"Do you want to talk about it, or would you rather tell Father Green?"

"I'd rather tell you," Billy said, which surprised Joey. He hadn't been present for many of Parker's talks, as it was usually Billy on the spot for this prank or that, but this was new.

"I'm listening," Parker said, sitting back.

"To make a long story short," Billy said, hesitating briefly, "Mom told me flat-out that I need to get over Joey. And she didn't mean in just the sense that he's dead, either."

"Hate her," Joey muttered, standing up. He wasn't sure he wanted to listen, but Billy needed him there, so he kept his hand where it was, letting it slide up to Billy's nape.

The look on Parker's face was unbelievable: Joey had _never_ seen that particular kind of grief. It was the kind of look he would've expected _his_ father to have.

"Billy, are you sure that's what she meant?"

"Yeah," Billy said. "Beyond the shadow of a doubt. Hell, she set me up with this _girl_ , okay? I didn't really have much say in the matter. Trying to think of others and all that. I don't blame Father Ji—uh, Green for giving me that advice, but…"

Parker was rubbing his temples like each word Billy said drove another nail into his head.

"I'm sorry to hear that your mother is so horribly misguided," he said, the last syllables biting like only he could make them bite. Joey almost wished Barbara was there to get it.

"Anyway, we…um, had a fight," Billy said, eyes dropping to the coffee table.

"Billy, if there's something—"

"I grabbed her arm, tried to make her take it back, she wouldn't. Slapped me. End of story, got it? I'm not proud of what I did, but I'm not proud she got a blow in, either."

"Billy, I'm afraid that this has gone beyond the realm of my capabilities," Parker said, drawing his hands down his cheeks, his eyes looking about as weary as they probably had when the whole catastrophe was going down. "I don't have experience in this."

"Does the school stay open over Christmas?" Billy asked abruptly, sitting up straight, almost throwing off Joey's hand. He sounded hopeful, like he'd just thought of something.

"I'm afraid not, Billy," Parker said. "Everything closes down, and we require students to leave. If you hadn't gathered that from last year, I'm truly sorry."

"I'm not going home," Billy said firmly. "No way in _hell_."

Parker rubbed his eyes again, by now the one hunched over with his elbows on his knees.

"Not even to your father's?"

"I called him on Thursday morning," Billy said. "He got me a day early. Funny thing is, he tried to be understanding, but it kind of…he…missed the point."

"Billy, were you _honest_ with him about the fight?"

"No," Billy said, wrapping his arms around himself. "How could I be?"

Joey sat back down again, feeling helpless. This had gone beyond pulling teeth.

Parker nodded, sighing, sitting up straight again.

"All right. Just…don't get your hopes up, but I'll see what I can do."

"Can't I stay with you?" Billy asked, hopeful again.

Parker put a hand up as if to say, _One thing at a time_.

"If worst comes to worst," he said cautiously, "yes, I will take you. But it's not my place to do such a thing until I've explored every other option there is, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, I want you to go get some rest, if that'll help," Parker said, standing up, looking as if he'd aged ten years in the past ten minutes, "and concentrate on your homework."

"Easier said than done," Billy said, starting to rise, glancing up at Joey. "Christmas is exactly three weeks from today, which means vacation is even sooner."

"Stop living by the calendar, Billy," Parker said, "unless it's your applications you're worried about."

"No, sir. All done, except the essays."

"If you need help with those, you're to see the writing tutor."

"I think I'll be all right," he said, glancing at Joey again. "Thanks."

"Would you consider talking to Father Green again?" Parker asked, already at his desk.

"Maybe. We'll see," Billy said, nodding at Joey, then to the door.

That Friday night, all the guys showed up at Billy's room for a catch-up session, which, as far as Joey could tell, was going to become something of a habit now that they were short an old cellar and Ric refused to set foot in the bell tower. Snuffy brought cards and cigarettes, and Phil surprised everybody by producing a six-pack of Guinness.

"Sorry, Joey," he said, setting it down on the floor in the midst of all of them.

There was a moment of impenetrable silence, but Billy was half smiling.

"I'll live," Joey said, leaning down over the side of the mattress, chin on his arms.

Phil grinned at him, then started uncapping bottles and passing them around.

"My break sucked," Snuffy announced, taking a long swig from his bottle, shuddering at the bitter bite on his tongue. "All Dad did was get on me about college applications."

"No worries there," said Phil, who'd told Billy that he'd sent his off in October. Princeton, Brown, Harvard, and in that order. He did nothing by halves.

"Easy for you to say, preppie-boy," Snuffy said gloomily.

"I sent mine last week," Ric said, staring into his bottle like he was afraid something inside might jump out at him. "UCLA has a December deadline. They can bite my ass."

"January for mine," Billy said, just barely catching Phil's toast. _Clink_.

"Dad's mad about Yale," Snuffy said, swilling his Guinness.

"No shit," Hank said, turning to look at him. "Why?"

"Theater program," Snuffy said with a cocky grin. "Cheers."

"Told you," Billy said, glancing up at Joey, then at Phil.

"Yeah, yeah," Joey muttered, rolling over and reaching for his book, stopping himself just as he'd begun to lift it. The book flopped down again, almost sliding off the bed.

Ric's eyes flew up and fixed on it, horrified.

"Guys, did you just see—"

"Yes," said Billy and Phil in unison.

"Shit," Joey muttered, sitting up, drawing his knees to his chest.

"What the fuck?" Hank asked, glancing over his shoulder at the bed. "I don't—"

"The book just moved," Ric said.

"You're obsessed," Snuffy said, and drained his bottle.

"I'm _not_ crazy," Ric said angrily, setting his bottle down. "This place is haunted, okay? I saw Frank at the gate, I'm telling you, and I _saw Joey with my own eyes_."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Joey muttered, forehead pressed to his knees.

"Ric," Phil said carefully, "I don't think you're a liar, but—"

"Okay, I have an announcement to make, and if you contradict me, I'm kicking you out," Billy said sharply, stunning everybody into silence. "Got that?"

"Um, yeah," Snuffy said, letting his bottle drop to the floor.

Joey watched all of his over his knees, knowing there was nothing he could do. If he could show all of them he was there, he would, but as it stood, Ric was catching half-snatches and Phil was fully aware, and Billy had it hardest of all, had for _months_.

The realization that he was a burden was a bit too much, but he'd promised Billy he wouldn't leave again, so he sat frozen, eyes fixed on Billy's, miserable.

"Please," he heard himself whisper, begging, then glanced at Phil, who caught his eyes, as ever, perfectly. If anything, Phil's recognition seemed sharper than ever before.

"Joey's here," Billy said with a sigh, staring down at his Guinness.

"I knew it," Ric said, as if hearing Billy say it made all the difference in the world. He settled back down, posture suddenly relaxed. He took a long drink and glanced at Phil.

"I wasn't about to freak you out worse. What do you think I am, stupid?"

"Wait a minute," Snuffy said, waving his hand in the air, voice raised. "All three of you guys think you can see fucking ghosts?"

"You're pretty quick to dismiss what happened in the costume room," Billy said.

" _Fuck_ ," Joey muttered, reaching out to smack the back of Billy's head lightly.

"Ow!"

"Thanks a _lot_ ," Joey said. "I have no way to fucking back you up!"

"That's not my fault!" Billy said, rubbing the back of his head, staring at Joey incredulously. "What's your problem? I'm just trying to settle this, okay?"

"Would you two just chill the _fuck_ out?" Phil asked, and everybody looked at him, amazed. He'd never raised his voice like that before, ever.

"You've got to be kidding me," Ric said. "He's—"

"Yes!" Billy and Phil shouted, exasperated.

Ric looked around the room, almost panicked.

"Then why—"

"You missed your chance, buddy," Joey said, rubbing his forehead. Shit, this was fucked up. "I tried to get through to you before I tried to get through to _anybody_."

"Would you calm down?" Phil repeated, directing it at Joey.

"Whatever," Joey said, flopping back on the bed. It shook satisfyingly under him.

Hank, who'd been leaning against it for a while, turned around, blinking.

"Hi," Joey said, waving vaguely.

Hank turned around again and said, "What the hell was that?"

"I'm telling you," Billy said, sounding like he finally didn't care whether they thought he was off his rocker or not.

"That's really messed-up," Snuffy said quietly, and Joey sat up again just to get a good look at him. He was staring at the floor, picking at his socks with both hands. "Billy, you're—not shitting me about Halloween, are you?"

"I wish I was," Billy said apologetically.

"Jesus _fuck_ ," Snuffy said, grabbing another bottle of Guinness.

"Let me get this straight," Hank said, taking his turn to make incoherent hand gestures. "You mean—okay, wait. You," he said, pointing at Ric, "saw him once—" then Phil, looking twice as confused "—you, like, I don't know, hear shit, and Billy—"

"Forget it," Billy said abruptly, taking a long swig from his bottle. "This isn't working."

"I believe you," Snuffy said quietly. "Shit, it explains a lot."

Joey scooted to the edge of the bed, disbelieving.

"Snuff?"

"Can't hear you," Phil said softly, giving Joey an apologetic look.

And that's when it hit him that Phil wasn't just following the sound of his voice anymore.

"Oh, fuck," Joey said, blinking at him.

"S'okay," Phil said, voice cracking a little. "How you been, anyway?"

"Worse," Joey said, smiling weakly. "I've been worse."

"Phil…" Ric sounded lost, helpless.

"Don't worry about it," Phil said, reaching over and squeezing his arm. "Just drink your shit, okay?"

"Yeah," Ric said unsteadily, and downed half the bottle in one pull.

"Good idea," Hank muttered, and did the same.

Snuffy shrugged, then reached for another bottle.

"Billy, make _me_ a promise?" Joey said, looking straight at him.

"Anything," Billy said, looking too worn out for words.

"Don't do that again," Joey whispered, staring at the covers. He glanced up at Phil awkwardly, who was watching all of this with the sort of half-horror, half-wonder that Billy had had for the first few days after he'd started seeing Joey.

"I promise," Billy said, grabbing his bottle and getting up. He sat down on the edge of the bed beside Joey, but he didn't attempt to reach out to him or anything.

"Thanks," Joey said, and did the reaching for him.

 

* * *

 

Billy was glad that nobody came around for the rest of the weekend, because Friday night melted into a blur that took the cake in his Big Book of Bad Ideas. Phil was having a hard time learning not to stare, and Joey was acting like having one more person see him was some kind of grave disadvantage, as much as he seemed relieved at the same time.

Hank said that worse things had happened to him when he was drunk.

Snuffy was strangely quiet, and there were times when he'd glance at the empty chair with an uncanny expression. He'd never say anything, but his eyes were full of questions that Joey seemed to understand to the point of squirming whenever Snuffy looked.

Ric's paranoia lifted like clouds after a storm. His old carelessness was coming back, and, like Snuffy, he seemed to have acquired a new understanding of the chair. What hurt the most was the hurt in his eyes, the understanding that he'd let something go.

"This is driving me nuts," Joey said to Billy one afternoon when he got home from class. It was the Friday before Christmas break was to start, and Billy might've asked him _what_ was driving him nuts if he hadn't been staring at an envelope in his hand, holding it out to Joey in hopes that Joey'd be able to give him some kind of explanation.

"That's…" Joey took the envelope away from Billy, turning it over in his hands. "No _way_ ," he said, running his fingers over the handwriting on the front.

"Why the hell's your cousin sending me a card?" Billy asked. He was afraid to open it.

"Don't know," Joey said, holding it out to him. "Dom's a really nice guy," he said, shrugging. "C'mon, open it," he said. "Maybe it's from all of them."

"You open it," Billy said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He felt sick. He'd had another talk with Father Jim that afternoon, and it had gone over about as well as his talk with his father. How was he supposed to tell a priest that he'd been involved with Joey?

"If you want." Joey ripped the thick paper and pulled out what was inside. It was a card, but there was something unusual about it. Didn't open. It was just…a card. Almost like—

"It's an invitation."

"You're shitting me," Billy said, finally reaching for it.

Joey stood up and walked off with it, apparently still reading, wide-eyed as he looked it over. "They want you," he said, "to spend Christmas there."

Billy was speechless, but it wasn't the bad kind of speechless, and he wasn't sure how Joey would take that. Joey'd been there for the talk with Parker, sure, but…

"At Dom and Cecilia's?"

"No," Joey said. "Dad's place."

Billy nodded, again trying to mask his lack of anything except _relief_ at this development. "I guess that makes sense, I mean, if all of them go there."

"Christmas dinner, Midnight Mass, yeah," Joey said, "but this is pretty strange."

"Actually, I'm not sure about that," Billy said, coming up behind him, taking the card gently out of Joey's hand. "I can imagine a lot of reasons they'd be spending—"

"You're right," Joey said, closing his eyes. "Thanksgiving, they were all there."

"Even your grandmother?"

"Are you kidding?" Joey said, laughing shortly. " _Especially_ Nonna. I think she'll keep going even after _she's_ dead. You couldn't lock her out, period. She'd pick it."

"I approve," Billy said, sliding his arms around Joey. "But, um…are you _okay_ with this?"

"Did you know it was coming?" Joey asked, one hand closing over Billy's, almost suspicious.

"Not really, but Parker _did_ say he was going to see what he could do."

"I don't think Parker would ask my old man for a favor like that," Joey said, shivering.

Billy thought about that for a second, then nodded. Parker had probably meant he was going to talk to Billy's parents and Billy's relatives, except the relatives clause was difficult because his Dad's parents were dead, and on his Mom's side, only his grandmother was still alive and they didn't see as much of her as they used to.

"Providence, I guess," Billy said.

"They're…" Joey's voice broke, and he tried desperately to get away, but Billy just spun him around and cradled him, let him cry. "Really good people, you know?"

"Yeah, Joey," he said gently, stroking Joey's hair. "I know."

The twenty-fourth arrived without warning, and the first big snow came with it, finally meaning business. As things stood, Dominic was driving up to get him that night, which was really unexpected. Joey said that he wondered if Alessandro had gotten himself sacked. Billy said that he didn't think so: from what he'd seen, Alessandro was loyal.

"You scare me sometimes," Joey said, and shoved his magazines and clippings into Billy's backpack. "Fuck," he said, rising, glancing out the window. "It's coming down."

"Yeah," Billy agreed, busy stuffing his duffel bag. Hadn't he just unpacked the thing?

"Dom's a good driver," Joey said. "He'll make it. Hope he doesn't bring the baby."

"I wouldn't put it past him," Billy said, frowning. His dress pants were going to get wrinkled, but he folded them up and stuck them in anyway. "He's super-dad."

"Yeah, and if he's at all super, he'll think twice before taking the baby out on fucking dangerous roads," Joey said, arms folded across his chest. He'd been getting edgier by the day, keeping his thoughts to himself. Billy hoped it didn't weird him out too badly.

"Your parents," he added softly, and Billy suddenly understood.

He'd been trying to keep his conversations home away from Joey as much as he could; they were enough to upset anybody, and even Phil was fucking livid on his behalf. Barbara had hung up on him, refusing to grant permission, except that his _father_ had obviously authorized this, and apparently David's word was still superior to her own.

Billy's father had said to him, "I'm disappointed that you won't be coming here."

"I need some space," Billy had said, and hung up on _him_.

"Billy—"

"They'll get over it," Billy said, taking Joey by the shoulders. "I promise."

"Guess I am glad," Joey whispered, squeezing Joey's hand. "Dad will take care of you. I know that. He'd just better not have any shit going down, you know? Only thing I worry about," he said darkly. "You remember last year, Thanksgiving?"

"Yes," Billy said, preferring not to think about _that_ undercurrent.

"The F.B.I. agent thing from the summer, that blew over," Joey said, shaking his head. "I swear he has the luck of the devil," he whispered. "Nonna always said God looked after him. When I was old enough to understand shit, _man_. I hated that."

"I'm grateful," Billy said softly, "that they'd do this."

"You love me more than even Dad. How could they _not_?"

Billy sincerely hoped that they'd be able to pull themselves back together before Dom got there. By the time dusk fell, the pay phone at the end of the hall hadn't rung, and Joey was pacing. "He said he'd call," Joey insisted, flopping back down on the bed.

"He's probably driving carefully," Billy said, tugging on Joey's arm. "Get back here."

He'd finally managed to get Joey to settle down for some restless dozing when somebody knocked on the door, yet another unfamiliar knock in their known repertoire of knocking.

"Hello!" Dominic called. "Billy Tepper, you home?"

"Yeah," Billy called, sitting up straight, almost dislodging Joey. "Door's open!"

"Hey," Dom said, letting himself in, all smiles. His hood was thrown back, but his hair and his coat were dusted with snowflakes. He was alone, which was probably what accounted for Joey's huge sigh of relief as he sat up and stretched, waving.

"All ready?" he asked.

"Yeah," Billy said, hopping off the bed. "Gotta get my coat."

"Wow, what you got in here?" Dom asked, picking up Billy's duffel bag.

"Oh, um, you don't have to—"

"Get the backpack and we'll call it even," Dom said, picking it up and holding it out to him. "C'mon, let's hit the road. There's a little lady who's really impatient to see you."

"Oh, so the invitation was _her_ idea?" Billy asked, zipping up his coat, grinning.

"Something like that," Dom said, opening the door. "It's nasty out there."

"Thank God you have a brain," Joey said, picking at his coat, which had just appeared.

Because there was a baby seat smack in the middle of the back, it made more sense to climb in the front of Dom's SUV, which had one long, continuous seat in the front sort of like the Suburban his Billy's father had. He let Joey get in first, because the middle seat was really the only place he could go. Billy in the middle would have been weird.

"Can't remember the last time we got snow like this on Christmas Eve," Dom said, squinting into the dark. "Can you read that sign?"

Joey read it off, and Billy repeated it.

"Thanks," he said, and took the exit. "I hate driving outside of Jersey."

The next thing Billy knew, Joey was shaking his shoulder, saying, "We're there."

Billy had never seen so many cars in the driveway, never mind the ones in the garage. There was Dom's, and in the other space, there was a small, dark blue car that Billy didn't recognize, and off to the side in the grass was something silvery and sleek. Ferrari.

"That's Tad's," Joey said, hands stuffed in his pockets as they crunched their way up to the front porch. "I think he got it back in August. Somebody told me."

"You never wanted a fancy car?" Billy whispered, making sure Dom was far enough ahead not to hear. "Fuck, I'd give any number of things for one of those."

"Not really," Joey said, shrugging. "There was always Dad's old one. It worked."

Billy jogged to catch up, hefting his backpack, wondering how the fuck Joey had turned out so fucking well-adjusted except for the whole temper thing. It blew his mind.

Inside the house was warmth and unexpected color: garlands on the bannisters, wreaths on the doors. Instead of red, most of the ribbons were silver or gold, and Billy found himself wondering as he tapped the snow off his shoes if Cecilia had done it.

"Beeee!" Gina shrieked, thudding into him out of nowhere.

"Oh— _oof_ ," Billy said, dropping his shoes and scooping her up. God, she was big. Almost three years old now, if he remembered right. "Hey, you."

"Santa's coming," she said, dark eyes wide with excitement.

"Oh, shit," Joey said. "She's got sentences now?"

Gina gasped sharply, twisting around in Billy's arms to look at him.

"Joey!" she said, reaching for him.

Joey quickly put his hands behind his back, smiling weakly.

"Hey, cutie."

"Bee," Gina pouted, turning back to Billy with the most adorable indignant look that Billy had ever seen on anybody. "Want Joey."

"Yeah, I know," Billy said. Dominic was watching him like he was so, _so_ sorry this was happening. Billy just bounced Gina a bit, mouthing, _It's okay_.

Joey was standing there biting his lip like he was thinking about leaving the room.

"God, I can't keep her offa you," Cecilia said. She was standing in the doorway to the living room, hands on hips, belly so big it was a wonder she didn't tip over.

"Oh, hey," Billy said softly, setting Gina down when her squirming got too frantic. "Merry Christmas," he added awkwardly, watching the baby race to her mother.

"Yeah, to you to," Cecilia said, smiling warmly as she scooped Gina up with a belabored _uff_. "This one here, though, she's never gonna learn. Gina, what do we say to Billy?"

"Merry Kiss," she said, twining her fingers shyly in Cecilia's hair.

"No, dummy," Cecilia said, tickling Gina's sides. " _Chris_ tmas."

"Kissmiss!" Gina shrieked, squirmed her way down, and raced off through the living room. "What'cha gonna do," Cecilia said, straightening her hair, embarrassed.

Billy took his coat off and hung it on the rack, carefully stepping over the wet spots their shoes had left. "She's talking a lot more," Billy said. "When'd that start?"

"September," Cecilia said, her bright eyes paling fast.

"She's smart," Billy said, glancing briefly at Joey. "Really smart."

"We knew that from day one," Dom said, walking over to Cecilia and kissing her on the cheek. "C'mon, get in here. There's snow all over. Your feet must be frozen."

"Nah, actually, I'm okay," Billy said, and followed them into the living room.

Gina was over by the Christmas tree, which was way too impressive for even Cecilia to have pulled off, which meant that they'd probably hired a decorator. Joey whistled at it, motioning at the armchair, which meant Billy should sit down. He did, reluctantly, and Joey sat down at his feet, leaning back against the chair. His thigh touched Billy's ankle.

"I wonder where Tad is," he said suddenly, twisting around to look at Billy.

"Is your brother around?" Billy asked Dom, feeling like he at least had the right to address him casually and out of the blue like that without getting odd looks.

"Yeah," Dom said, switching on the television. "He's in the kitchen with Nonna."

"Tad _cooks_?" Joey asked incredulously, wrinkling his nose.

"Man of many talents," Billy said.

"Yeah, he thinks he's hot shit," Cecilia said, putting her stockinged feet up on the coffee table, skirt falling carelessly about her knees. "You'd think he was gonna be a chef instead of an architect, I fuckin' swear."

"Ceci, watch your mouth," Dom said quietly, but it was too late.

"How many times do I _tell_ you!" shouted an imposing voice from through the other doorway and across the hall. "That is no way to be talking with a baby!"

"Yes, Nonna!" Cecilia shouted, rolling her eyes. "Whatever!"

"Don't you be a-whatever this an' a-whatever that to _me_ ," Nonna said, voice getting closer and closer until the old woman was standing in the doorway, one arm folded across her chest and the other hand jabbing accusingly at Cecily. " _Domenico_ , this wife of yours, she is trouble, _è_?"

"Yeah, Nonna," Dom said, flipping channels, sparing her a brief, serious glance. "Lots."

"Then you see about this thing, you wash her mouth with soap," Nonna said, nodding firmly. She started to go, then stopped, eyes settling on Billy with pleasant surprise.

"Ah, stupid boy, you are keeping secrets!" she shouted at Dom, then shuffled over to where Billy was sitting and bent down, taking hold of his shoulders in a grip that he'd be willing to bet was even stronger than Joey's. She squeezed Billy briefly and gave him something that was somewhere between a shake and a clap on the back, then let go.

"I am glad we are seeing you again," she said. "You are too skinny."

"Aw, Nonna, cut it out," Joey muttered, glancing up at her.

She paused in the doorway again, eyes darting briefly back to Billy before she broke into her hawk-like smile and left again. Commentary might've been forthcoming, but Gina dashed in a second later, gnawing on a wooden spoon as long as her arm.

"Honey, _no_ ," Cecilia groaned, struggling to sit forward. "Where'd you get that?"

"Tad gimme," she said, and ran back out again, cackling gleefully.

"For the _love_ of God," she muttered, standing up. "I'll be back."

Dom raised his eyebrows at Billy as soon as she was gone.

"Crazy house, huh?"

"Definitely," Billy agreed, hiding his grin behind his hand.

"Al's sorry about not being here," Dom said. "Won't be in till late, probably."

"Oh, fucking _great_ ," Joey said, standing up. "I'm gonna fucking—"

Billy reached out and brushed Joey's hand, letting his own drop casually over the arm of the chair. "Is your father coming late, too?"

"Can't make it till tomorrow," Dom said. "He had shit to worry about at the casino."

Indifferent, like it was just a fact of life, just another day, never mind it was a holiday.

"Gotcha," Billy said, sitting back again. He glanced up at Joey, pleading.

"Can we take your stuff upstairs?" he asked, desperate.

"Uh, hey," Billy said, rocking forward in the chair, forcing himself to stand. "I'm gonna take my stuff upstairs, if that's okay with you?"

"Yeah, sure," Dom said, starting to rise. "You want help?"

"No, I've got it," Billy said. "Did…your uncle say which room I'm in?"

"Take what you want," Dom said. "There's tons of 'em."

"That means you're in mine," Joey said, and started out of the living room.

Joey's room was chilly, but as soon as Joey flipped the lights and went over to the radiator and turned it up, things felt a little bit more normal. There wasn't the faintest sense of disuse about the place, not even a trace of dust on the desk. The only thing to give it away was the perfectly made-up bed and the dissipating chill. The door to the adjoining room was closed, but Billy imagined it was just as well kept.

Joey took Billy's backpack off of him and set it on the floor.

"Dinner's probably going to be in about an hour," Joey said. "Dad never misses Mass. He'll probably meet them at the church."

"What?" Billy asked, snapping out of his stupor.

"Midnight Mass," Joey said. "They always have dinner before it."

"It's, like…" Billy glanced at the clock on Joey's desk, disbelieving. "A quarter till ten."

"Tradition," Joey said, shrugging as he sat down on the edge of the bed. "What else is new?"

"Will they expect me to go?"

"Probably," Joey said. "You should change out of the jeans."

"I thought lots of Catholics wore jeans to church these days."

"Yeah, but did you notice the way Dom and Ceci are dressed?"

"Point," Billy sighed, unbuttoning his pants. "Tad too, I guess."

"Maybe not for cooking, but I bet he'll be looking like something out of a Gap ad."

"Poser," Billy muttered, pulling his shoes off.

"He was decent to you at the funeral," Joey said thoughtfully. "More than."

"Yeah, well, it was your funeral," Billy said softly. "Can we not talk about that?"

"Sure," Joey said, almost indifferently, and went over to open the glass doors on the cabinet that held his stereo system. "Fuck, they haven't gotten rid of _anything_."

"Doesn't seem to me that your dad would," Billy said, pulling up his dress pants. Maybe there was something to what Nonna had said: these were way looser than they'd been a few months ago, and he didn't have a belt with him. "Um, do you have—"

"Closet," Joey said. "Nonna was probably right, y'know."

Billy ignored him, rummaging through hangers until he found one that had nothing but belts hung over the crooked part. He picked a black one to match his shoes.

"What time do we leave for Mass?" he asked.

"You'll probably be going at about a quarter till twelve."

"We've got a while, then," Billy said, then—" _wait_. I'll be going?"

Joey turned around, sighing as he sat down on the opposite side of the bed.

"I don't wanna go in there," he said quietly. "All right?"

"All right, I mean…" Billy sat down and crawled across to meet him, putting an arm around Joey. "Nobody's making you, but Jesus, it's Christmas."

"I haven't been in a church since summer," he said, "and I'm afraid what might happen if I start now. D'you understand?"

Billy felt so fucking stupid. He hadn't even thought of something like that, but the mere implication filled him with blind panic, worse terror than even watching—

"Right," Billy said hoarsely, clinging to Joey with both arms now. "Stay _here_."

"Yeah," Joey said, squeezing Billy's arms with both of his own. "I promise. Not going anywhere."

"I hope that's true," Billy said softly, realizing how much they'd been avoiding.

"Me too," Joey said. He looked out the window, watching the snow between the blinds.

"Let's go back downstairs," Billy said, kissing the back of Joey's neck, "before Gina finds us."

 

* * *

 

At dinner, Tad was a perfect gentleman, which blew Joey away. He wasn't the same jerk he'd been back in March, that was for sure. Even his hair and his clothes had calmed down. The tie was so boring that Joey almost wished he could call him on it.

Gina played with her food and kept smiling at Billy, but her looks for Joey were nothing but hurt reproach. At least she'd stopped saying his name and reaching for him.

It hurt like _hell_.

Before Nonna announced that they had better go get the coats, _pronto_ , Joey had managed to follow Billy to the bathroom and pin him up against the door for a kiss once he'd finished, saying he'd be waiting upstairs when they got home, no matter what.

"I know," Billy had said, and kissed him again, deeply, hands fumbling at Joey's waist.

"Later," Joey had whispered, pulling away, staggering back into the clothes hamper. Jesus, he had _not_ meant to get Billy turned on before going to _church_.

Billy had just grinned, eyes a jumble of mischief and sadness, and left him.

Now he was alone, and the house seemed too large, too dark, too fathomless. Joey wandered through the downstairs, shivering, telling himself that it was ridiculous that _he_ should be scared when he was the ghost. Besides, Alessandro was on guard upstairs. He'd caught sight of him in the hallway above when they'd first arrived.

The stairs creaked beneath Joey's feet, so he lightened his steps, realizing he might be heard. The last thing Alessandro needed was a false alarm, and his father—

Joey gritted his teeth and dashed up the last five steps.

His father's office was empty, but that came as no surprise. If Dom had said that his father was out, then chances were that his father really _was_ out. Christmas fucking Eve. What the fuck was so important that he couldn't be there?

Against his better judgment, Joey turned the light on. If Alessandro noticed, fine.

The room was just as it had always been, perfectly kept, not a single picture frame out of place. In the end, when somebody entered that room, it was probably always the pictures that threw him. It was the worst possible joke there was, except it wasn't a joke at all.

Joey stepped up to the bookshelves and touched the spine of a familiar red album, longing. He'd shown it to Billy, and Billy hadn't flinched. He'd kept him, fucked-up family and all, and he'd told him not to let his memories be angry, to _let go_.

"Can't do that," Joey whispered, turning just as he'd been about to pull the album down.

He wasn't alone.

Albert stood in the doorway, snow-dusted coat hanging loose, every sense alert as he held a gun at arm's length, cutting a wide, silent arc in the emptiness of the room.

"You'd better come out," he said harshly. "If you show yourself, I won't shoot."

Joey was frozen. He couldn't have moved even if he had wanted to.

"Dad," he whispered.

"I said," Albert repeated, advancing a few more steps, swinging the gun in the opposite direction, pointing it almost directly at Joey, "who's _there_?"

"Nobody, you stupid fuck," Joey hissed, and took a step toward him before he could think twice. "Put the goddamned gun down, Dad."

The hardness in Albert's eyes had faded to blank, fearful confusion.

"Alessandro?"

"Put it _down_ ," Joey repeated, reaching out—God, his hand was shaking—and taking hold of the barrel, pulling it slowly, carefully downward—an inch, then two—

Albert's glance darted straight ahead, eyes fixed inadvertently on Joey's, then on his gun, which was slowly, gradually leading his hand in a straight line towards the floor.

Joey kept hold of the barrel until he actually had to bend over slightly, then realized his father's grasp had loosened so much that a single, quick tug would be enough to disarm him. Joey sucked in his breath and yanked, and the gun slipped out of his father's hand. Shocked, Joey let go, and it fell to the floor with the briefest click before it fired.

Albert leapt back, just as Alessandro arrived with his own gun at the ready.

"It's nothing," Albert said. "There's no one. I dropped it."

Alessandro gave the room a dubious once-over before tucking his gun away in his belt. He left Albert with a curt, respectful nod, and went back out again, surveying the hall.

Breathing heavily, Albert closed the door behind him and stared at the gun.

Joey sank down until he knelt beside it, legs too strained to support him.

"Dad," he repeated, shaking. Fuck, this wasn't working. _Nothing_ was working. Why wasn't his father at the church? What did he expect to accomplish in doing this?

Albert crossed himself, glancing fearfully around the room again.

"There's nobody here," Joey said, crawling forward, until he could touch the gun again, "but me." He gave the weapon a push, and it slid three feet across the finished wood.

"God have mercy," Albert whispered, staring at it.

"No, _you_ have mercy," Joey said, struggling to his feet. He had to do this standing. "You let go, Dad. Don't pretend you didn't hear me." His voice felt like it was going to give out. It was the first time he'd felt like he still had something to lose.

"Joseph," he said quietly, "I don't believe in this."

"I don't care what you believe," Joey said. "I'm here."

Albert nodded dumbly, looking up from the floor. He couldn't see shit, that was certain.

"Why?" he whispered, eyes darting to the bookshelves, to the picture frames. "Why won't you let me sleep?"

"Only you can answer that," Joey said, his throat tightening. Fuck, something was not _right_. He was indestructible now; there was no reason he should feel like this.

"Every dream," his father said miserably, not whispering anymore, eyes fixed on Joey's senior picture. "Every miserable _nightmare_ I've had, there you've been."

"I haven't been hanging around here much," Joey pointed out, not really sure if his father was actually hearing him, or just _imagining_ he was hearing him. It was unnerving. Had he thought the gun was just a fluke, or had he really felt the pull?

"Tell me what I have to do," Albert said desperately. " _Anything_."

"Apologize," Joey said, fighting the sudden urge to laugh. God, it was clear now. If he spent every minute of every day beating himself up for this shit, _why_ did he do it?

"I can't do that," Albert whispered. "No. Those bastards deserved what they got."

"Not to _me_ , you fucking moron," Joey hissed through gritted teeth, stepping up so close that he could feel his father's heat, feel the tremor it put to the air between them.

Albert closed his eyes tightly, shaking hard enough that he had to brace both hands against the lowest shelf, knocking a few of the frames over. When he opened his eyes again, he reached for one of them, picking it up carefully, reverently.

"I wish I'd never put you through this, _Therèse_."

Joey felt his anger break and dissolve into the thickness of tears that had been threatening ever since he'd first caught sight of his father in the doorway, ever since the graves.

The picture in his father's hands was one that Joey had never seen. His mother was standing ankle deep in surf, smiling, younger than he'd ever seen her. A young girl, hardly a woman, barely a bride. Behind her loomed sunset and a tower of darkness, a place Joey had only ever read about, a place he'd thought he'd give anything to sketch.

His mother had once said they'd taken their honeymoon in France.

"I'm so sorry," Albert whispered, setting the picture to rights.

Joey turned away before he could sob aloud, before he could say, _I love you, I love you both, will you ever forgive me for coming, and if I waited there, would you find me?_

 

* * *

 

"That's really cool," Tad was saying, leaning with his arm against the window, watching the snow dart by. "What's your first choice, though, really?"

"It's kind of a toss-up," Billy admitted. "Harvard would be great, but so would M.I.T."

"My vote's on M.I.T.," Tad said, flashing him a grin through the darkness.

They were almost back to the house, and Nonna was such an amazingly good driver for her seventy-nine years that Billy had managed to forget it wasn't Dom driving. He'd taken the SUV with Cecilia and the baby. Gina had started to fuss toward the end of Mass.

Returning to the church where they'd held the funeral had been strange, and it had also been odd to discover that Albert wasn't waiting there. Maybe that's why Nonna had spent the whole service looking sour, droning out the responses in a tone of sheer contempt.

When they pulled into the driveway, Tad leaned over and said, "Al's back."

"How d'you know?" Billy whispered back, hoping Nonna wasn't paying attention.

"Garage," he said, pointing.

Billy must have missed that one of the spaces inside wasn't occupied when they got there, but now he could see there was not only the limo, but Albert's car in the opposite side.

Once they got inside, Gina came running with her shoes shoved on her hands, babbling that it was time for bed or Santa wouldn't come. Tad just laughed and rubbed the top of her head, so she dashed over to Billy and held out her arms, shoes and all.

"Gina, that's icky!" Cecilia yelled from the living room. "Billy, get those off her?"

"Sure," Billy said, catching the tiny shoes and pulling them away, much to Gina's surprise. "There ya go."

"Oh, no!"

Billy set the shoes down and scooped her up before she could run off again.

"What did you ask Santa for?"

"Fiss," Gina said, holding up two fingers.

"What?" Billy said, confused.

"Two fiss," she repeated, still holding up the fingers.

"Two fish," Tad clarified, hanging his coat up. "We took her in the pet store a couple weeks ago and ever since, it's been fish this, fish that. She scribbled on a piece of paper when we got home and held it up to Ceci, telling her that meant two fish, a blue one and a purple one."

"That's, um, specific," Billy said, giving Gina a bounce. "Tall order."

"Yeah," she said, grinning mischievously, and twisted so hard that Billy let go of her out of sheer surprise. "Ahahaha!"

"You've gotta watch her," Tad said. "Slippery _as_ a fish."

Billy felt his heart skip, feeling like an idiot for having forgotten.

"She really is," he agreed, swallowing hard. "Uh, do you think they'd mind if I crashed? I'm really wiped out. Lots of shit at school," he said.

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry about it," Tad said, clapping him on the shoulder. "I'll tell 'em. Fuck, it's after one, y'know? Get to sleep. Squirt's gonna wake everybody up yelling anyway."

"Thanks," Billy said, returning the gesture. "G'night."

There was light filtering through the cracked door of Albert's office, and Billy had almost passed it when a voice from inside said, "William Tepper."

Billy froze, forgetting to breathe.

"Uh, yes," he said. "Sir?"

"Please," Albert said, as kind as Billy remembered him. "Come in."

Billy pushed into the room reluctantly, finding it just as he'd remembered it from the brief glance he'd gotten the year before when Joey fetched the photo album. Albert was at the desk, which had an armchair off to one side that Billy didn't recall, but he hadn't been looking that hard. It was a hell of a lot more classy than the movies, somehow.

"Sit down," Albert said, indicating the chair. "I haven't disturbed you, have I?"

"Ah, no," Billy said. "I was on my way to…unpack."

"I hope someone warmed the room for you," Albert said.

"Yes," Billy replied, expecting Joey to show up any minute. "Thanks."

Albert nodded, hands folded in front of him. He looked as if he hadn't slept in weeks.

"Allow me to apologize for not greeting you earlier."

"Don't worry about it," Billy said, feeling vaguely uncomfortable. Didn't you get called into a Mafia don's office only if he had serious business to discuss with you?

"And I want to apologize," he said levelly, "for what happened back there."

Billy felt his eyes widen; there was no stopping them.

"Sir?"

"I did what had to be done," he said, sighing heavily. "I hope you understand that."

Billy felt his chest tighten, but something else loosened that he'd been squashing down for months. He steadied himself on the arms of the chair, nodding slowly.

"I do," he whispered, shocked at the depth of hate in his own voice.

"Good," Albert said, looking up at him, eyes half narrowed. "I thought you would."

"I'm sorry I didn't pull the trigger myself," Billy said.

"I'm not," Albert said, eyes softening, apologetic again. "Joey wouldn't have wanted that."

 _I'm not so sure_ , Billy thought, but he just swallowed, nodding.

"Now, I'm sorry I've kept you from bed," Albert said. "You've had a very long day, and there's one excited little girl down there who's going to wake you up at six if you're not careful," he added, the old wry smile that Billy remembered so well returning.

When he stepped into the hall, Joey was leaning against the wall in the darkness, eyes haunted, not even trying to pretend that he hadn't been listening.

"Oh, Joey," he whispered, taking him in his arms. "I'm sorry."

Joey's arms came up around him tentatively, trembling.

"I'm _not_ ," he said fiercely, and kissed him.

Billy wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, maybe Joey sitting on the bed reading a book or rummaging through the trunk at the foot of his bed, careless and careful all at once, setting things down with deliberation so his father wouldn't hear. There was none of that reticence in him now, none of the scrupulous care as he pulled Billy along down the silent hallway, both of their footsteps thunderous in the silence, drawing him on through the door. Billy held him in check just long enough to close it behind them, keep it from slamming. Joey pushed him aside only to make sure it was locked, rattling the knob.

"Good," he whispered, and pulled Billy over to the bed.

He remembered this like half dreaming, like something that had happened so long ago that it would take the last of his strength to summon it back. Once upon a time, they'd spent an entire day in this room, and it was heaven. The night before that, they'd kissed and clung and let an old, fragile photo album fall to the floor, pictures scattering.

Joey's hands were already at the borrowed belt, struggling to get it undone.

"Easy," Billy whispered, catching his hand, unbuckling it easily. He brought Joey's fingers up to his mouth and kissed them softly, begging Joey with a glance. _Please_.

Joey sat back and watched him undress, never once interfering from there on out. There was something strange about that, too, only in the opposite sense: Joey very rarely tolerated being shoved aside, even gently, but there was curious calm in him now, a sharp contrast to moments before. Billy kicked his pants and boxers on the floor, turning back.

"All set," he said, but Joey— _wasn't_. He sat contemplatively picking at his shirt, almost fearful, then glanced up at Billy, eyes full of a question he couldn't ask.

Billy leaned over and took hold of the hem of his shirt, drawing it up about Joey's middle. No difference there. Billy leaned in and kissed him, so far, so good. He hitched the shirt up to Joey's armpits and nudged him to raise his arms. Joey sucked in his breath and did.

The shirt came free of his arms just like all the other times Billy had done this, and when he dropped it on the floor, it landed there, still and silent. It didn't vanish.

"Jesus," Joey said. "I wonder if they've been noticing shit missing from my closet."

"It must go back," Billy said, shrugging. "What's the problem?"

"Nothing," Joey said, predatory again, and the jeans vanished before Billy could lay a hand on them. He crawled into Billy's lap and slid up the length of his body, forcing him to lie back. Nothing new, this, not really—Joey had always had an unpredictable streak.

No expectations, then. Just Joey, _here_ , in his arms and his heart, on his name.

 

* * *

 

"Bee! Beebee _bee_! Get up!"

"Ugh," Joey groaned, blinking at the ceiling.

The banging at the door got louder and more energetic.

"Guess who," Billy muttered, rolling Joey over onto his back, burying his face against Joey's neck. "Mmm," he winced softly, wiggling a little, settling his hips against Joey's.

"Fuck," Joey breathed, but he sucked in his breath and nuzzled Billy's ear, biting softly. He brought his knees up and wrapped his legs tight around Billy's, toes curled against Billy's calves. "Shhh," he added. "Keep quiet."

Billy groaned, half laughing.

"Bee! Santa presents!"

"You nutball," Tad said, voice clear from the other side of the door. "Let him sleep."

" _Beeeee_!" she wailed, the sound getting fainter. Clearly, Tad had carried her off.

"Your cousin's not so bad," Billy whispered, thrusting gently, breath coming in short, sharp bursts against Joey's cheek. "Ah, oh, _fuck_ ," he whimpered. "Joey…"

"You're such—" _fuck_ , just like always, mind going fast "—a _girl_."

Still, there were worse ways to start off Christmas morning than with Billy Tepper moaning in your ear and coming uncontrollably fast like they'd just started doing this.

"I stand corrected." Joey closed his eyes, trembling with it. Two more seconds. _Remember_. " _Shit_ ," he hissed, thrusting up hard, helpless.

"Quiet," Billy whispered, heart still hammering, stroking Joey's hair. "G'morning."

"Merry _Christmas_ , you asshole," Joey said, floundering till he grabbed the nearest pillow they weren't lying on, then hit him over the head with it. "Slam, bam, thank—"

"Oh, cut it out," Billy muttered, kissing him quiet. "Love you—" he gasped when Joey pinched his sides "—too, _ow_ , what the _fuck_!"

He chased Billy out of bed and into the bathroom, which was a lot more fun than it should have been, and it was also fun to see if Billy could pay attention to the shampoo bottle this time any better than he'd been able to last time. Apparently not.

"I," he panted, sinking down onto the tub floor, sprawling onto Joey, " _hate_ you."

"Sure," Joey said, and kissed his soapy forehead, starting to work the suds out of his hair.

Downstairs, the living room floor was a sea of holiday-colored paper, most of it twisted and ripped and laced with untied ribbons. No sticky-bows for this family, ever: Joey couldn't remember a single year that any of the presents from his mother, father, and Nonna had been done up with anything less than hand-tied. By the look of a few presents still under the tree, Cecilia had been informed of the custom, but her spin wasn't as hot.

"Look what I got!"

"Mm, yeah," Billy said, crouching down in the doorway. He hadn't even had the chance to come into the room; Gina was fighting her way happily through the wrapping paper.

"Look!"

Her hands were empty, but she was waving wildly, pointing over in the direction of the tree. Puzzled, Billy picked her up, glancing over his shoulder at Joey with a shrug, then said, "I'm looking, but you're gonna have to show me," he said.

"She's nuts," Tad called, apparently in the kitchen. There was the distinct smell of bacon.

"She is a _baby_ ," Nonna corrected, and Joey grinned, imagining her with a spatula.

"Good morning," Albert said. He was in the armchair in the corner, watching.

"God, I swear," Cecilia said, fighting with a ribbon that she couldn't quite untie. "Your mother's amazing," she said to Albert. "How's she _do_ these?"

"Joey used to bring scissors," he said, smiling wistfully.

"Oh, please," Joey muttered, dragging his feet over to the couch. He sat down, watching Billy carry Gina across the room. She was still pointing, jabbing with her finger.

"There," she said, pointing under the tree.

"Jesus, who put those there? They'll spill!" Joey said, diving off the couch, crawling over to look. Were those really—

"Fiss," Gina said proudly. "Bee, down!"

"Okay," Billy said, grinning. He was looking at the fish as if he'd expected them.

Gina crouched down and watched the fish intently for a few seconds, then realized Billy hadn't followed. She stood up and tugged on his hand, pointing at the fish.

"I _see_ ," Billy said, sinking down beside her.

"I'm going to see if breakfast's finished," Albert said, and Joey watched him get up, still smiling at Cecilia. "Call if you need help."

"Yeah, whatever," Cecilia said under her breath, more to the ribbon than to Albert.

"Bettas," Joey said, looking up at Billy. "Like the one you threw in the ocean."

"You're never going to let me live that down, are you?" he asked.

"Nope," Cecilia said. "Gina beats the point home with a fuckin' two by four."

"That's…um, graphic," Joey said. He stuck his finger out, tapping on one side of the container. It was divided down the center by a piece of clear plastic so the fish wouldn't get at each other. The blue one, which was closest, flared at him instantly.

"Whoa," he whispered.

Billy looked up at him.

"What?"

"It flared at me!"

"So?"

"Genius," Joey said, "that means it _saw_ my finger."

"Babies and animals," Billy said. "Why not?"

"Joey," Gina said, grabbing Joey's finger when he stuck it out to poke the fish again.

"Oh," Billy said, wide-eyed. "Geez."

Joey froze, meeting Gina's questioning eyes.

"Hiya," he said softly, shaking her hand with his finger.

"Hi," Gina said, squeezing his finger. "Joey."

"Baby, what did I tell you?" Cecilia said, voice sharp.

"No!" Gina shrieked at her mother, then looked back at Joey.

"That kid," Cecilia said, turning around from where she was sitting amidst all the wrapping paper, tears in her eyes, starting to roll down her cheeks, "is _so_ confused. I can't get it through her head," she whispered, looking at Billy. "I'm so sorry, you have no idea. I wish I could shut her up or something, she just—"

"Cecilia," Billy said gently, rubbing Gina's back, "it's really okay."

"No, it's not," Cecilia said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

Joey bit his lip, staring down at the fish. This was _so_ fucking awkward, and Gina still had a hold of his finger, and _she_ was the one shaking him now.

"Joey, fiss."

"Yeah," Joey said softly. "Two."

"Two fiss," Gina said, nodding, then let go of his finger. She took hold of his whole hand instead, pulling his middle finger up to join his index finger, then matched her own fingers up against them. "Like that," she explained.

"She's got imaginary friends," Cecilia said, sighing, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

"What kid doesn't?" Billy asked, watching Gina with amazement.

"Joey, fiss," Gina repeated, tugging Joey's fingers over to touch the container again.

"You wanna name the blue fish Joey?" Cecilia asked, biting her lip like she was going to start crying again. Joey glanced at Billy, realizing they had a problem, but it was too late.

Billy had one hand over his mouth, and he was still staring at Gina, staring so hard that the only thing he could possibly be doing was telling himself he would _not_ cry.

"Yeah," Gina said, bouncing happily, letting go of Joey's hand. "Joey fiss!"

"Oh, fuck," Joey whispered, reaching across her for Billy's hand. "I'm so—"

"You've gotta name the other one, honey," Cecilia said, smiling now, wiping her eyes some more. "You can't call 'em both Joey. They'll get mixed up!"

Gina bit her fingertip for a second, then watched Joey take Billy's hand, and reached for it, too. Joey pulled his hand back as soon as he saw what she was going to do.

"Billy, fiss," she said, tugging Billy's hand up to the purple betta. It darted away fearfully, then hunkered down in one graveled corner and flared at them.

"Aw, fuck, honey," Cecilia said, finally looking closely at Billy. "Stoppit."

Billy slowly took his hand away from his mouth, raising it to his forehead.

"It's, um…okay, look, it's _really_ …"

"Billy fiss," Gina said, satisfied, and looked at Joey as she said it.

"Yeah," Joey said, nodding at her. "That's right. Billy-fish and Joey-fish."

"See?" Gina said, turning to beam at her mother.

"Yeah," Cecilia said, but her hand was over her mouth now, and she was looking at Billy with tears in her eyes, and Billy was looking back at her, hand back over his mouth, trembling. "Yeah, I do see," she said, voice breaking on an ugly sob. "I always did."

What Dom must have thought when he walked into the living room to find Billy and his wife sobbing on each other's shoulders was anybody's guess, but Joey had somebody else to worry about. Gina was smiling at him, reaching for his face, saying, "Stay."

 

* * *

 

Billy went upstairs after dinner was over, and he brought Gina with him.

He didn't blame Joey for getting out of there after he broke down, and he couldn't blame the baby for starting to wail the minute he got up and walked out, arms stretched to him, pleading. At some point, Dom had come into the room, so he was there to collect his daughter and carry her screaming off to the kitchen, saying what she needed was something in that little tummy of hers. God, and Cecilia like that, fucking _undone_.

"How can you stand it?" she'd sobbed in his ear. "How can you _take_ it?"

"A day at a time," he'd said, and sobbed some more, helpless. She'd _known_.

Gina picked at his shirt curiously as he carried her up the stairs, fixated with the pattern. "What's that?" she asked, and he felt tiny fingers picking at his pierced earlobe.

"Earring," Billy said.

"Eering," Gina repeated. "Pretty."

"Something like that," Billy said, setting her down at the top of the stairs. He took her hand and said under his breath, "C'mon, this way. Let's go see Joey."

Gina gasped, clutching his hand tighter.

Joey's bedroom door was ajar, which was kind of a relief, because if he'd locked Billy out, that would've caused no end of problems. _Um, hi, I've locked myself out_.

"Hey," Joey said, looking up from the pillows, then spotted Gina. "Oh, man. _Why_?"

"Because," Billy said, lifting her up on the bed, "she misses you."

Gina stuck her finger in her mouth, regarding Joey mistrustfully.

"God," Joey muttered, sitting up. He sighed at her, holding out his hand.

"God?" Gina asked, reaching for his hand. She turned it over in both of her own curiously, running her fingers up and down Joey's with curious meticulousness.

"No," Joey sighed, "I mean…Gina, look. I can't stay here."

Gina looked up at him reproachfully, then smacked the back of his hand.

"Bad," she said. "Why?"

Billy sat down on the edge of the bed, sighing, giving Joey an apologetic look. He didn't need this from somebody who was way too fucking young to understand what it meant when you went to a church and everybody was there except the one person who's the reason you're all there and devastated in the first place. He didn't need it at _all_.

"Gina," Joey said, grabbing her hands in his own, stilling them, "I'm dead."

Her eyes darkened, and she pulled away so fast that she fell back into Billy.

"No!"

"Oh, geez," Billy said. "I think she understands better than Cecilia thinks."

"She's not dumb," Joey sighed, then looked at Gina again. "Are you?"

"No," Gina said sullenly, clinging to Billy's arms. "And you _stay_."

"I can't," Joey repeated helplessly, spreading his hands.

"I miss you," Gina said, reaching for him again.

"Oh, no," Joey whispered, covering his face. " _Fuck_!"

"Fuck!" Gina said loudly, tossing it back at him like an insult.

"Wow," Billy said, ruffling her hair. "Nonna's gonna _love_ that."

Joey uncovered his eyes, staring at Billy helplessly.

" _Why_?" Gina demanded, sticking her chin out defiantly.

"Tell her the truth," Billy suggested, shrugging. "Couldn't hurt."

Joey took a deep breath, pushing his hair back.

"Okay," he said. "If I tell you why, will you stop asking?"

"Maybe," Gina said, sucking on her fingertip.

"I can't stay here. I have to stay with Billy."

Gina twisted around and looked up at Billy accusingly.

"Yeah," Billy said softly, untangling her curly hair. "He does."

" _Why_!"

"I love him," Joey said. "You know love, Gina?"

Gina turned back to Joey, blinking at him, trying to process both of them at once.

"I love him, too," Billy said, and kissed Gina's hair. God, the poor kid.

"Kiss," she said quietly.

"Yes," Joey said, eyes lighting up suddenly. "Yes," he said, and before Billy could protest, he leaned over Gina's head and kissed Billy on the lips, soft and slow.

"Oh," Gina said when Joey finally pulled back.

"Um," Billy said when she looked up at him, "yes."

"Good," Joey said, and patted her on the cheek. "You wanna show me your toys?"

"Yes," Gina said, and squirmed off the bed before Joey could catch her.

"That," Billy said, watching her dart out the door, "is why we were never gonna have kids."

"No arguments there," Joey said, leaning for another kiss. "C'mon."

"We'll make a couple of kick-ass uncles," Billy said, hoping it was the truth.

 

* * *

 

On Saturday, Dominic decided that they should probably be going. Joey watched his father nod slowly, granting his assent. Begni had been there for a few days, then gone again, and Joey found that it had left him remarkably indifferent. He'd never been _close_ to his uncle the way he'd gotten close to his cousins.

Nonna helped see them out the door, almost disbelieving that Billy was going.

"You must promise me," she said, raising a careful, crooked finger, "that you keep eating."

"I promise," Billy said, taking her hand and patting the back of it reassuringly.

"Albert, he is a good boy," she said to her son, then patted Billy's hand back, and turned to go inside. "Is cold enough to kill a horse, get in the car!"

"Uh, I will," Billy said, then shot Joey a scared glance.

"She's like that," Joey said, shrugging, keeping his hands in his coat pockets.

"You're welcome any time," Albert said, taking Billy's hand and shaking it.

"Thanks," Billy said, seemingly at a loss for anything else. "I'll, uh—keep in touch."

"I'd appreciate that," Albert said, and just as unexpected as it had been at the funeral, he pulled Billy in and hugged him close. Billy, on the other hand, wasn't surprised.

"Take care," he said.

"You too," said Albert, and followed his mother inside.

"Okay, we're outta here," Cecilia said, trying to extract Gina from a foot of snow.

"Yeah," Dom said, peering at the object in his hands. "These fish'll freeze."

"Fiss!" Gina wailed, dashing at her father.

"Over and out," Billy said, catching her before she could smack into him.

Unlike home, Cecilia's house was as cluttered as Joey remembered it, and somehow, he found that reassuring. Tad had a room upstairs that he used to stay in when he was home from Rhode Island, and there was another spare room that Joey had stayed in on a few different occasions. That's where they were putting Billy, if he had no objections.

"None," Billy said, peering inside as Cecilia opened the door.

"May be a little dusty," she admitted. Gina was already inside, jumping on the bed.

"Bee's room! Bee's room!"

"God, whose kid _are_ you?" Tad asked, peering inside.

"Her mom's," Joey said, grinning at Billy. He looked lost.

"Right," he said, picking up his duffel bag again, and hauled it in.

"Forgot this," Tad said, pushing past Joey with the backpack.

"Uh, thanks," Billy said, watching a giggling Gina bounce faster and faster.

"You want me to get her outta here?" Tad asked.

"No, that's okay," Billy said, setting his bag down.

"You sure?" Cecilia asked, turning to go.

"Yeah," he said. "I like her just fine."

"Thank God," Cecilia muttered, already on the staircase. "She's wild about you."

"I don't get it," Tad said. "No offense or anything, but she never took to me like that."

"Kids are weird," Billy said, sitting down on the mattress. "Okay, break time!"

"Boo!" Gina said, jumping one more time, letting herself bounce to a stop.

"Geez," Tad said, laughing, leaning against the wall. "See?"

Joey looked around for a place to sit, then gave up and settled on the floor beside the bed.

"I guess," Billy said, drawing his legs up as Gina crawled into his lap. "I'm an only child. I don't know the first thing about kids."

"I'm a younger brother," Tad said. "I know what it's like _being_ the kid."

"I always wondered," Billy said, catching Gina's hands against his cheeks. She was feeling his stubble, grinning like she'd caught Billy out in some dirty secret.

"She took to Joey faster than anybody," Tad said quietly, staring at his feet.

"Yeah?" Billy asked, finally managing to get Gina's hands onto his shoulders.

"Yeah," Tad said, looking up again. "From birth, Ceci'd say."

Joey didn't dare move. This was another one of those moments he couldn't believe he was witnessing. How many fucking train wrecks did they think Billy could take?

"He's…he was always…good with people, period," Billy said, "as long as he didn't feel threatened. Hard to feel threatened by kids, I guess."

"What do you mean by that?" Tad asked, taking a slightly defensive stance.

Billy looked up, puzzled.

"Exactly what I said. There are a lot of people at school who were afraid of him."

"Jesus," Tad muttered, "the day Joey would've hurt somebody…"

"I saw him provoked," Billy said, "plenty of times."

"You're really subtle, you know that?"

"He doesn't mean that, idiot," Joey said, starting to rise.

Billy looked up at him, alarmed, then realized what was going on.

"Jesus, no," Billy said, hands over his eyes. "I didn't mean _that_."

Tad sighed, anger draining from him like he couldn't sustain it.

"And I did it to him plenty of times," he sighed. "In front of you, even."

Billy stared at the bedspread, nodding the barest fraction.

"Idiot," Joey said. "I _forgive_ you."

"He forgives you," Billy said softly.

"What?" Tad said, looking up, blinking.

"I said, he…" Billy made an empty gesture at the bedspread, meeting Tad's eyes helplessly. "He did," he said. "We were hardly apart, okay? He told me everything."

For a second, Tad looked afraid. Joey felt like throttling him.

"You're such a confrontational jerk," he said, stepping up close to his cousin. "Even when you're not. Jesus Christ. Get _over_ yourself."

"Thanks," Tad said, pushing away from the doorframe, staring out into the hall. "You want to, um…I don't know, play video games later?"

Gina was on the floor now, playing with something small—a piece of plastic, a piece of paper, what was the difference. She held it up to Billy, frowning.

"Uh-oh," she said.

"Put it in the garbage, Gina," Joey said. "Over there."

"Okay," she said, picking herself up, and ran over.

"Sure," Billy said, nodding. "Later."

Tad nodded back, awkward as hell, and left. His room was just across the hall.

Joey made sure he was in his own room with his door closed before he closed Billy's door, then turned around to see where Gina had gotten off to. She was fishing _through_ the trash can, picking interestedly at old Kleenexes and crumpled paper.

"Gina," Joey yelled, running over, pulling an old soda can out of her hand and tossing it back. "That's gross! Who told you it was okay to do that, huh?"

Gina put her finger in her mouth, and Joey had to pull it out for her.

"You're a heathen," he said, and, taking a deep breath, picked her up.

"Joey!" she shrieked happily, kicking at the air.

"Yeah, whatever," he said, carried her over to the bed, and dropped her beside Billy.

"This is awfully familiar," Billy said, catching Gina against his chest.

"Go figure," Joey said, shrugging. "Welcome to it. There's another one due in two months."

"Geez, that _soon_?"

"I'm shocked mom didn't have any more after me," Joey said. "Big families. Catholic thing. Italian thing. Same difference."

"Why didn't your mom have more kids? Did they ever tell you?"

"She used to say I gave her such a hard time that she never wanted to do it again," Joey said, closing his eyes, remembering. "And that was that. I'm not sure if it was the truth or not. Maybe there were real problems. Hell if I know. She was…"

"I know," Billy said, his fingers coming up suddenly under Joey's chin.

"I wish you'd known her," Joey said, wondering if he'd always feel disconsolate.

Billy touched his cheek, and Gina crawled over to him, wrapping tiny arms around his waist.

"I think I do," Billy said.

He hugged Gina in between them, and her squealing laughter drowned out Joey's tears.

 

* * *

 

New Year's was strangely anticlimactic: Billy ended up falling asleep on Dom and Cecilia's couch with Joey curled up in the crook of his arm, watching horrible black and white movies with Tad. Dom and Cecilia had gone out somewhere and left the baby with them. Gina had fallen asleep quickly, either bored with them or too tired to keep going.

Joey had said he suspected the latter, and that he'd be glad to get back to Regis.

Dom drove Billy back on the second, and Gina rode along in her car seat. She wouldn't have been there at all, except she'd thrown an absolute tantrum when she realized Billy was leaving. Joey kept her company in the back, and Dom glanced back every once in a while, completely puzzled. He gave Billy a nervous grin, flipping the turn signal.

"She's a handful," he said. "Misses Joey a lot."

"That's good," Billy said, watching the main gate to Regis loom up on his right. "Means she'll probably remember him even when she's older," he added.

"You had better," Joey said, handing her the doll she'd dropped.

"Joey," she said, then looked out the window, curious as the car pulled to a stop. "Bye."

"Aw, Gina," Billy said, leaning back over the seat. "I'm gonna miss you."

"Miss you," Gina said, reaching for him. She caught his finger, shaking it.

"We'll be back," Joey said, casting an uncertain glance at Billy.

"I'll be back," he said, giving her a firm look. "I promise."

"Sure," Dom said, offering _his_ hand. "You sure you don't want me to drive you the whole way in?"

"Nah," Billy said, glancing at the sign, which had either been scrubbed clean or totally replaced. "The walk'll do me some good. All that great food, ugh."

"Ceci overdoes it," Dom said, rolling his eyes. "I told her that."

"Believe me, I'm glad," Billy said, opening his door. "This place sucks."

"Bye!" Gina called as soon as he stood in the lane with both of his bags in tow. Dom got back in the car and rolled the back window down so Billy could hear her. "Bee-ee!"

"Aw, man," Billy said under his breath, glancing down for a second. He couldn't do this. "Bye, Gina!"

"Bye, Joey!"

"Bye," Joey said, waving at her.

"Fisses too," she said, then did the strangest, most deliberate thing Billy had ever seen. She held up both hands, then folded down every finger except her index fingers, and waved them perfectly in unison. "Fiss bye!"

"Bye, fish," Billy said, waving.

Joey just stood silent, arms folded in front of him, eyes somber.

"See ya!" Dom called, and drove off. Gina's shouting was audible until he was over the rise and out of sight, on his way to this or that detour to the highway.

"Well," Billy said, turning to offer Joey his arm.

Joey nodded and took it, tugging Billy in close.

There was noise from inside Billy's room when they got there, which wasn't quite what Billy had been envisioning by way of homecoming. When they opened the door, Phil and Ric, who were sitting on the bed talking, or rather, arguing, looked up in surprise.

"Didn't know when you were coming back," Phil said quickly, standing up.

"Yeah, well, I'm here," Billy said, dropping his bags on the floor.

Joey shut the door, giving Phil an irritated look. He was still serious, and probably upset.

"You'd better have a good reason for being here," he said.

"Relax," Phil said. "Actually, we did. We just wanted to be here when you got back."

"Nothing's missing," Ric said, putting both hands in the air, careless look on his face. "Honest! See, you can even check—"

"Whatever," Billy said, shrugging out of his coat. He hung it over the closet doorknob and rubbed his eyes, sighing. No matter how much he slept, it was never enough.

He'd spent the last handful of days at Dom and Cecilia's writing his essay on their computer, this totally indecipherable thing from a company called Gateway, and he kept losing his file. Joey would frown at the vague, vast desktop and all the icons lined up at the bottom and point, thinking _that's_ where Billy'd filed it, only it wasn't. It was a miracle they'd wrangled out and printed four different versions at all.

"How was break?" Ric asked, still looking at the door.

"Eventful," Joey said, stalking over to the desk. He pulled out the chair and sat down, drawing Ric's attention instantly. He leaned on the back of the chair contemplatively.

"That's fucking amazing," Ric said, blinking at the chair.

"You'd think it was rocket science," Phil said, trying not to laugh.

"Shut the fuck up," Ric muttered. "What did he say?"

"Eventful," Billy said, carefully pulling his folders and packets out of his duffel bag. No damage done, everything bundled up where it should be. All he had to do was mail them.

"You'd better get those things off tomorrow," Joey said.

"I know, I know," Billy said, walking over to the desk, setting them down with a _thump_. "Satisfied?"

"Yeah," Joey said, smiling ever so slightly.

"Now we've gotta wait till fucking _March_ ," Phil said, flopping back on Billy's bed. "Sucks, man. Why can't they tell you in February?"

"Because there's always lots of late shit," Ric said. "The deadlines aren't as strict as they'd like you to think."

"What makes you think that?" Billy asked.

"My cousin sent his stuff to UCLA, like, two weeks late, and he still got accepted."

"Uh, Ric, that's California," Phil pointed out. "Everybody's two weeks late for everything."

"You're gonna get it," Ric said, rolling over and punching Phil's shoulder repeatedly.

"Ow, geez—hey, cut—"

"Kids, kids," Joey said, clicking his tongue. "Play nice."

"Oh, fuck you," Phil muttered, struggling to sit up, glaring at Joey as he rubbed his shoulder. "Define 'eventful.'"

"That's where I draw the line," Billy said, turning from sorting through his papers. "Out."

"What?" Ric asked blankly.

"Out," Billy said. "I'm fucking tired."

Phil smirked at him.

"Or—"

"One more word outta you and your shoulder gets it," Joey said under his breath.

"You're still no fun," Phil said, mock-pouting at him, rising from the bed. "C'mon, Ric."

"But—did you—just—"

"Shut up," Phil said, grabbing his arm and tugging him to the door. "See you guys later."

"Yep," Billy said, shaking his head as Ric pulled the door shut.

"Good riddance," Joey muttered, rocking forward, chin in hands.

"Hey, you all right?" Billy asked, reaching down to mess up his hair.

"Stoppit," Joey said, swatting his hand away. "Yes."

"Don't believe you," Billy said, dropping down on his knees.

"That's not my problem."

"You're still cute when you're in a bad mood, y'know."

"Fuck you."

"If you want," Billy said, and kissed him softly.

Joey had a feverish look in his eyes when Billy pulled away, equal parts fear and longing.

"Billy, don't know if…"

"Why not?"

"Don't wanna think about it right now," he said, standing up and stepping around Billy to get to the bed. "Just…lie with me a while, huh?"

"Joey," Billy said softly, climbing onto the bed after him. "Of _course_."

Joey was already settling down onto the pillow, pensive.

"I'm tired, too," he said.

"Gina takes a lot out of a guy," Billy said, settling alongside him, curling one arm around Joey's waist. Joey snuggled up close, sighing into Billy's shirt.

"Parker's gonna want to see you tomorrow," he said. "You should just go."

 "What are you, psychic now?"

"No, there's this note on the floor over by the door."

Billy raised his head and glanced back over his shoulder, straining. Sure enough, there was. Whatever it said, Joey had obviously lifted the flap with his toe and read it.

"Okay, you're efficient," Billy said, and nuzzled his cheek. Warm, real as always.

Joey yawned and curled into him, and for the rest of the evening, that was that.

After classes the next day, where nobody was focused (and a few people were hung-over, including Snuffy), Billy headed for Parker's office, glad that Joey had decided he'd rather screw around in the art room. If anybody wondered where the scrap paper kept vanishing to, they sure weren't asking questions. Rumor had it that the art crew was getting superstitious, saying that if Joey would haunt anywhere, it would be the art room.

"Come in," Parker said. "Door's open."

Billy stepped inside and set his backpack down against the chair, then took a seat. He was to the point where he didn't need to be asked, and he didn't feel weird _not_ asking, and he was glad that Parker seemed to be at that point, too.

"You had a restful break, I hope?"

"Yeah, actually," Billy said. "It was fun."

"I was glad to hear you had a place to go," Parker said, rising from his desk and coming over to the couch. He took his reading glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose, setting them down on the coffee table as he took a seat. "Your parents weren't happy."

"No," Billy said, laughing, because that was all they deserved. "They weren't."

"But life goes on," Parker said, actually cracking a smile.

"I'm mailing the applications this afternoon," Billy said, anticipating his next question. "Can't stay long. Gotta get into town before the Post Office closes."

"Do you have them with you?" Parker asked, glancing down at his backpack.

"Uh, yeah," Billy said. "I was planning on going straight from here."

"Leave them with me," Parker said. "I'll make sure they go out with the last of the faculty mail."

Billy stared at him as if he'd misheard, then waved his hand in the air.

"Sir, you don't have to—"

"Consider it your Christmas present," Parker said in that almost-prickly, over-enunciated tone he took with tiresome students. "Give me the envelopes."

"Yes, sir," Billy said quickly, reaching down to unzip his bag.

For the first time in—well, shit, _ever_ —they talked complete and total bullshit, everything from how Billy had spent New Year's watching bad movies to the blind date that an old college friend of Parker's had set up for him while he was back home visiting in Virginia.

"Suddenly," Parker said, "I have a lot more sympathy for you."

"Was she at least hot?" Billy asked.

Parker shook his head and covered his eyes, then started to laugh.

"Yeah, but that was about all she was. Get out of here, Billy, before word gets around that I have absolutely no reason to get you in trouble anymore."

Billy picked up his backpack and stood, tilting his head at Parker thoughtfully.

"I could change that pretty easily, sir."

"I don't doubt it," Parker said, his laughter fading, "and you had better not. I'm counting on you graduating with a record no worse than it is at this moment, do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," Billy said, saluting. "I'll see you later."

"I'm sure you will," Parker said, getting up and heading back to his desk. "Close the door on your way out."

"Always," Billy said, and did, but not before deciding it was time to ask Joey for some assistance in coming up with something totally brilliant and completely untraceable.

 

* * *

 

"I can't believe this shit," Snuffy said, marching into the room without so much as knocking. "Would you fucking _look_ at this?" he asked, waving a piece of paper in Billy's face. "What, I ask you, is this school coming to?"

"Your level," Joey said, and rolled back over, trying to find his place on the page.

"Calm down," he heard Billy say. "What the fuck is that?"

"Call for auditions," Snuffy said. "Found it on the bulletin board today," Snuffy said. "Oger going right over our heads this year. He must think it's more fair or something."

Joey turned the page, yawning indifferently. Not having to worry about set-design was going to be a big relief, though he was sure that when it came down to it, it would suck.

"Hey, Joey," Snuffy said.

Joey sat up and turned around, staring at him. He was looking in the general direction of the bed, eyeing the book suspiciously. His focus was nowhere near as good as Phil's had been, and Joey had no clue if Snuffy had actually heard him or not.

"Is he there?" Snuffy asked Billy, pointing at the bed.

"Yep," Billy said, busy scanning the paper.

"Oh, good," Snuffy said, then turned to the bed, glaring at it. "Asshole."

"Blow me."

"He says you can blow him."

"I'm not gonna answer that," Snuffy said, shaking his head. "Nope."

"I've never even heard of this one," Billy said, looking up from the paper. He held it out to Joey, giving him a quiet, suggestive look. _C'mon, let's play with him_.

Joey snatched the paper away, glaring only halfheartedly so Billy would know he didn't mean it. He realized that he wasn't doing either of them any good, being so uptight.

Snuffy stared at the piece of paper, turning white as a sheet.

"What, did you think I was a liar?"

"Yeah, I thought you and Phil were totally pulling our chains," Snuffy said acidly, glaring at him. "No, asshole. Of _course_ I believed you. Just—" Snuffy made a flustered gesture at the paper, looking up at just the right angle to catch Joey's eye "—that's—"

" _The Tempest_?" Joey asked, glancing up at Snuffy in disbelief. "You sure _you're_ not joking?"

"Joey thinks that flyer's a joke," Billy said, eyebrows raised. He snatched it back.

"Swear to God," Snuffy said, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Does he even realize that shit's tough enough for _professionals_ to pull together?"

"Yeah, you don't see it performed often," Joey said gravely. "Fuck."

"What's wrong?" Billy asked, handing the flyer back to Snuffy.

"Nothing."

"Not _you_ ," Billy clarified, then glanced back at Joey.

"Have you ever…no, never mind, you haven't heard of it," Joey muttered.

"I bet he's throwing a fit," Snuffy said, folding the paper in half, tucking it under his arm.

"Yeah," Billy says. "Why?"

"Because it's only the last play Shakespeare ever wrote," Snuffy said standoffishly, "and probably the most complicated, and sometimes the most depressing."

"Thought that was _Macbeth_ ," Billy said, frowning.

"Not by half," Joey said, rubbing his forehead. " _Fuck_ , I'd give anything to…"

"What's he saying?" Snuffy asked, impatient. "I bet he's spazzing."

"Shut the hell up," Joey said, glaring at Snuffy, "before I pound your ass."

"He says he's gonna pound your ass if you don't shut up."

"Okay, okay," Snuffy said, holding his hands up in front of him. "It's not a joke, though. I have no idea what crack Oger's smoking, but I wanna know where he got it."

"Left over from last semester," Joey muttered, picking up his book. Hell with _that_. He wouldn't give Snuffy the satisfaction of knowing he was bitter.

"Left over from last semester," Billy said. "So, you gonna audition?"

"Are you kidding?" Snuffy said, hardly even blinking at the book. "Fuck, yes!"

"You guys adjust way too fast," Joey said, genuinely disappointed. "Don't relay that."

"What's the plot?" Billy asked curiously. "Would I like it?"

"Dunno," Snuffy said. "It's more Joey's speed."

"Shipwreck," Joey said, tossing his book down on the floor. "They wash up on this island where a sorcerer, Prospero, lives with his daughter. Prospero has all these spirits at his command, actual characters in the play. The shipwrecked dudes, royal court from Naples, are wandering around really confused for most of it, but one of 'em falls for Miranda—"

"Miranda?"

"Prospero's daughter. Anyway, Ferdinand, the shipwrecked king's son, falls in love with her, and there's all this amazing, _amazing_ dialogue, most of it for the villain, who's one of Prospero's servants. Lots of complicated shit. I'm gonna make you read it."

"Fuck," Billy said.

"I have no idea what just happened," Snuffy said.

"Joey's gonna make me read it."

"I have a copy," Snuffy said. "Complete works. You can borrow it."

"Show-off," Joey muttered.

"He says you're a show-off."

"Oh, that's funny," Snuffy said, talking to the book on the floor.

"Uh, I'm up here," Joey said, leaning forward far enough to wave in his face, and if he reached just a _little_ bit further, enough to brush—

"Holy shit," Snuffy whispered, shrinking back, rubbing the tip of his nose.

"Shit," Joey gasped, recoiling back onto the bed.

"You guys fucking scare me," Billy muttered, rubbing his forehead.

"Billy, did he just fucking _touch_ …?"

"Yes," Billy said. "He touched your nose. Brilliant. We've got all five senses going on around here, though it's a crap-shoot as to who's got what, Jesus _fuck_."

"Billy," Snuffy said, his breathing a bit erratic, "I think you need to just chill out."

"Easy for you to say," Joey said, shivering.

"He's freaked out, too," Billy said defensively.

Snuffy looked as if he couldn't believe that.

"No kidding," he said softly. "Sorry."

"S'okay," Joey said.

"It's okay," Billy said, running his fingers through his hair.

"Good," Snuffy said, his breathing starting to calm. "Okay, I'm outta here. I'll drop the book later."

"Thanks."

As soon as the door shut, Joey got up and retrieved his book, then set it on the edge of Billy's desk before crashing in Billy's lap with a sigh. Fucking twisted, all of it.

"Oof," Billy said. "You're still heavy."

"I can't believe Oger would do that," Joey said, resting his chin on top of Billy's head. "Who the fuck unleashes that kind of emotional—"

"I'm sure he wouldn't do it if he didn't have a reason," Billy said thoughtfully.

Joey closed his eyes, clinging tightly to Billy. What he didn't dare say was that perhaps there was a reason in history and literature for the belief that people could command spirits at will, and he wasn't hot on thinking about that sort of thing more than he had to.

"Yeah," he said pensively. "Let's hope so."

 

* * *

 

This was ridiculous. He couldn't put the fucking play _down_.

Billy had never been much for Shakespeare; he'd had a nasty experience with a ninth-grade English teacher who had thought _Romeo and Juliet_ was a great way to kick off the school year. Yeah, right. Billy had sworn that if he _ever_ had to read that whiny, long-winded bullshit _again_ , he'd burn his English book. On the school's front lawn, and toast marshmallows on it. For _Hamlet_ , he'd followed through.

Nobody knew that his first expulsion had been on account of the Bard. He always made up some bullshit about a prank, but it hadn't purely been a prank. It had been a fit of temper, and it had also been destructive. After that, Billy learned not to ruin shit. Made it harder for people to stay angry. If they expelled you, it was on account of repetition.

He hadn't encountered Shakespeare again until just before Regis—God, Emerson felt like _ages_ ago—when Mr. Godbold had put them through a run of the sonnets.

That actually hadn't been so bad.

Then there was Regis, and Joey—and New Orleans, which had effortlessly become _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ in living color. Shakespeare, he'd decided after that, wasn't all bad. It just depended on what you were dealing with, in what context.

 _The Tempest_ , he realized, should have bothered him on quite a few levels, but instead, it fascinated him. And it was _funny_ ; how the hell had Joey forgotten to mention that? It was the most bipolar thing Billy had ever encountered: high drama on one side and slapstick on the other. He decided that it was a pity he wouldn't be around for another Regis student government election, because he'd totally organize a contingent of guys to nominate Stephano as a write-in. Maybe a few Trinculos to keep it interesting.

Joey returned from the art room just as he was finishing. There was never charcoal on him anymore, but Billy knew it was because he could make it fall away like _that_.

"How's that treating you?" Joey asked, pointing to the book.

"You didn't tell me this was part comedy," Billy said, glancing up at him.

Joey scratched his nose.

"I never really connected with that part," he confessed. "I mostly—"

"Prospero," Billy said, resuming his reading. "Books and magic."

"Spirits," Joey said, and the irony in his tone was cutting.

"Actually," Billy said, pausing again, "Caliban is fucking _interesting_."

"He has all the best lines," Joey said, rummaging under the bed for his magazines and cut-outs. "Besides Prospero, I mean."

"No, that's not true," Billy said, closing the book on his index finger. "Ariel's got class. Full fathom five thy father lies, and of his bones are coral made—that shit. It's _good_."

Joey was sitting back on his heels, hands full of magazines, smiling like a kid at Christmas. Happier than Gina with her fish, happier than Billy with the combination pen and laser pointer that Albert had given him. He was _beaming_.

"I knew," he said, pointing at Billy emphatically, "you would like it."

"Jesus, don't tell Snuffy," Billy muttered, letting the book fall open again in his lap. "Between the two of you, I'm doomed. 'Billy Tepper, closet Shakespeare enthusiast!'"

"There are worse things to be in the closet about," Joey said, settling down, picking up the scissors. "I meant to tell you, that was fucking brave, what you told your mother."

"No, it was cheap," Billy said, trying to lose himself in _thence retire me to Milan, where / every third thought shall be my grave_. Fuck. He gave Joey the most apologetic look he could muster. "I used you as a weapon."

Joey's brow furrowed, and after a couple of seconds, he shook his head.

"I don't see it like that," he said. "I see it as you taking back the truth she threw in your face. She invaded your privacy. She couldn't damned well wait for you to tell her on your own terms. Your…fuck, I don't even like calling her that, how about 'Sycorax' for a code word?"

Billy burst into laughter.

"Hah, yeah, like—bad wombs have borne _good_ seed, et cetera?"

"Nice inversion," Joey said, the smile retreating to his eyes. "Anyway, as I was saying, the witch's problem is that she can't do anything on anybody else's terms. It's all her, all the time. Is that about right?"

"Yeah," Billy said. "And I told you the divorce happened because _she_ cheated, right?"

"Long time ago," Joey sighed, taking the scissors to a ripped-out page. "I think so."

"Once," Billy said, "I felt bad about saying I hated her, you know, like…you don't _really_ hate your parents, but—"

Billy cut himself off and beat himself over the head with the book.

"I'm just gonna shut up now."

"Stop that," Joey said, and Billy heard the scissors drop just before Joey's hands grabbed his wrists, tugging the book back down. "No, I know what you mean. I understand."

"I really," Billy said, realizing he was shaking, " _really_ hate her."

Joey looked him steadily in the eye, nodding.

"I know you do," he said gently. "You have a reason."

"Is it still the same for you?" Billy asked. "I mean, with your dad?"

Joey lowered his eyes, all the hardness he usually reserved for his father gathered in them like a storm, then looked up again, calm and even as before. He let out a breath, and Billy felt it ghost against his lips, as faint and strange as the first time he'd noticed it.

"Yes," Joey said quietly, "and no. I know he's sorry for what he does, if only because it hurt Mom and me. That's an understatement, but…I don't know, Billy. He's human."

"So are we all," Billy said, hands tightening on the book.

Joey looked like he wanted to cry for a second, but his lips quirked into a smile.

"But doth suffer a sea-change into—"

Billy pressed a hand to Joey's lips, shaking his head.

"Not now, my bird," he said, meaning to joke, but it came out as a whisper.

 

* * *

 

Valentine's Day was in less than a week, and Joey was beginning to despair of ever finding all the pieces he needed to cover the piece of poster-board he'd been hiding under the huge supplies cabinet in the art room. He'd even slipped out of bed to work nights, finding yet another use for the ability to dissolve at will. Billy hadn't awakened once.

On Wednesday evening, the twelfth, when he'd finally been able to sneak everything he'd been cutting down to the art room in the dead of night and start piecing shit together, he'd caught sight of a figure up the hall, in front of the bulletin board outside the auditorium.

He'd shrunk back against the wall, holding the slippery pile of cuttings to his chest, breathing hard. A glance at his watch, which still kept time, told him it was almost midnight. It wasn't until he realized what the figure was doing that he realized who it was: Oger, tacking up the cast list. Snuffy had said that it was due up the thirteenth.

Fuck, it was the thirteenth. Joey would have to work fast.

He waited until Oger was gone—in the opposite direction, thank God, or maybe just Dumb Luck—and walked up the hall until he was in front of the bulletin board. The list was printed on a piece of bright pink paper, which was cheesy, but it stood out.

"Whoa," Joey said. "Caliban."

 _Snuffy_ was Caliban.

Joey knew he was going to be pissed about that, because he'd wanted Prospero more than anything. He'd come back around to ask Billy how the reading was going, and if he liked it, and he'd been plenty vocal about what roles he'd take and which he wouldn't, except Joey knew he'd take this no matter how pissed he was, because Snuffy was Snuffy.

The other names were a blur to him until he hit Ferdinand and Miranda.

He hadn't even known Ric and Phil were trying out.

Had Snuffy really been _that_ persuasive? If so, it was the funniest shit that Joey had ever seen. He was laughing so hard that he lost his grip on the clipping, which slipped to the floor, dispersing in a graceful flutter of bright color and chaotic text.

"Shit," Joey muttered, and bent down, quickly gathering it up. He turned and hurried in the opposite direction. If teachers could stay in the building this late, who _knew_ who else might be wandering around after hours. Billy wasn't the only sneak, after all.

Picking the lock was a simple matter. Joey wedged the door-stop in between the door and the frame, just in case. He had a weird paranoia when it came to the art room, and not even dying had changed that. Besides, there was the issue of the collage. When he finished it, he didn't want to have to try jamming it under the door or sliding it through the side. He couldn't understand why things like his clothes had a weird double standard going on where the laws of physics were concerned, and yet—

"The pen," Joey said, watching the art room lights flicker to life.

The pen he'd been writing with in Derek's room had gone with him in the church parking lot. It flashed back to him, a split-second memory of sound as it hit the pavement.

Joey kicked the doorstop away, satisfied as the door clicked shut.

He was well into arranging cut-outs, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle with glue and no blueprint, when he heard a knock on the door, sharp and distinct.

"I know you're in there."

Joey would have just frozen and let it pass, hoping whoever it was hadn't noticed bits of paper sliding themselves around on a piece of poster-board at the farthest work station, except the voice was Snuffy's, and so was the insistent pounding.

"Oh, fuck. Don't you ever stop?" Joey yelled, looking up. Snuffy was banging on the glass, nose almost pressed up against it. He was looking at the poster board and cut-outs, which argued for proof that he'd been standing there long enough to notice motion.

"Just let me in, okay? I want to talk to you, and _no_ , I can't hear you, but I've thought of a way around that. You're not gonna _believe_ what Oger did."

"Guess again," Joey said, grinning in spite of himself. He walked over to the door and twisted the handle down, yanking it open. Snuffy, still leaning against it, practically fell into the room, barely managing to choke back his shriek of surprise.

"Oh, God," he said, standing and brushing himself off, turning to watch the door click shut. "Shit. Sorry if I inter—"

Joey grabbed his wrist and held it up in front of his face, shaking it at him. _I've got you, do you understand me?_

Snuffy's eyes went so wide that Joey thought they might roll back in his head.

"Don't pass out on me," Joey said, shifting his grip up to Snuffy's hand, squeezing it tight. "This way," he said, leading Snuffy over to the counter where the scrap paper was piled in the corner. Joey let go of his hand and picked up a piece of paper, then carried it over to the work station. Snuffy blinked at it, then got the message and followed.

Joey grabbed Snuffy's hand again, moving it up to his pocket.

"I'm taking this," Joey said, dropping Snuffy's hand and taking the pen he kept there.

"This is intense," Snuffy said, watching the pen right itself at an angle with the scrap paper as Joey began, slow and deliberate as before, to write.

_What are you doing here? You could get caught._

Snuffy blinked at the writing for a few seconds, as if he could hardly believe it, then sighed. At least he had enough sense to stop protesting and deal with it.

"I wanted to see the cast list," he muttered. "Oger said he'd probably be here late, working on it, in order to get it posted by the time he promised."

Joey smirked and started writing again.

_I saw it on my way down here. Congrats, Caliban._

"Don't rub it in, okay? It's bad enough. Robert Anderson? What the _shit_ is that?"

_At least you don't have it as bad as Phil and Ric._

Snuffy's look went from dark disappointment to wicked glee.

"Oh, _oh_ yeah," he said, smirking. "I knew Phil was gonna regret parading around in a dress one of these days. He's gonna have to do it _again_."

Joey frowned, chewing his lip. He shifted his grip on the pen, then wrote, _That's just stupid. Miranda should be in pants anyway. I don't care how much magic Prospero knows, the dude can't fucking sew._

"Wow, you have a point," Snuffy said, as if he'd never thought of that before.

_Tell Oger?_

"Yeah," Snuffy said. "Or costume crew."

Joey felt hope spark through him, tenuous and exciting. Maybe there was a role left for him after all, even if it was the wrong fucking play. Cyrano wasn't to be scoffed at.

_If I write a bunch of suggestions down, would you pass them along as your own? Oger listens to you. Billy was basically just a puppet last year, you know that._

Snuffy broke into a grin, rubbing his hands together.

"Excellent. And Billy thinks he comes up with all the best shit."

 _Don't push it_ , Joey wrote, glaring at him.

Snuffy flinched, backing up a step.

"Okay, okay. But you have to admit, Billy wouldn't have thought of this."

 _No_ , Joey admitted, bringing the pen up to his lips.

"Anything else you can think of? Shit, you know, I can't believe Billy hasn't had you pulling elaborate shit all over this fucking school. I mean, wow, the possibilities. I can't imagine _you_ haven't thought of them."

That, Joey decided, was taking things a bit too far.

 _I_ , he wrote, _AM NOT ARIEL_.

"Jesus," Snuffy muttered, covering his face with his hands. "Fuck. Sorry."

Joey reached across the table and tapped the backs of Snuffy's hands lightly with the pen.

_Don't do it again, got that?_

"Yeah," Snuffy said, lowering his hands slowly. "Got it."

_Okay. But promise me we're going to do this. I can't stand sitting around here doing nothing. Can you imagine having all kinds of ideas and not being able to use them? I was hoping he'd pick a play I hated, so I wouldn't care, but I guess fate is like that._

"Fate is a bitch," Snuffy said vehemently.

 _Sycorax_ , Joey wrote.

"I told you not to rub it in."

"Jesus," Joey breathed, smacking his forehead. Even monsters loved their mothers.

_Sorry._

"It's okay," Snuffy said, crooked half-smile returning. "We're even."

_Looks like it._

"What is this, anyway?" Snuffy asked, picking up one of the bits of paper.

Joey snatched it away, setting it back down.

 _For Billy_ , he wrote, more careful than before. _It's a surprise. Tell him and I'll do worse than hit you with a pen, got it?_

"Yeah," Snuffy said, swallowing hard. "His walls _are_ pretty fucking bare, aren't they?"

 _Didn't manage to get my posters_ , Joey wrote sadly.

"At least he got the important shit," Snuffy said, yawning. "Look, I had better get out of here before somebody comes along and _I_ get busted for breaking into the art room after hours."

_It would be your own fault. Nobody sent you here._

"You're still an asshole," Snuffy said.

 _We've established that_ , Joey wrote, tiring fast. _I have work to do._

Snuffy nodded hesitantly, then started for the door. He turned around, eyes lingering on the scrap paper. He started for the work station again, and when Joey realized what he meant to do, he dropped the pen and met Snuffy halfway, running into him full-force.

"Don't," Joey whispered against his ear, trapping Snuffy against himself, both arms wrapped tight around Snuffy's shoulders, "you fucking _dare_. What's said in this room, stays in this room. Do I have to spell it out?"

Snuffy cried out in fear, shoving at Joey's chest with shocking accuracy. They were flung apart by the force of Joey losing his hold, both of them falling to the floor.

"Oh, fuck," Snuffy whispered, clutching his elbow to his chest. " _Fuck_."

"You had better not take that the wrong way," Joey said, using the nearest table leg to pull himself to his feet. "You had better—"

"Shut up," Snuffy said, hands over his ears, staggering to his feet, "if you're laughing, and I _know_ you probably are—"

Joey hauled himself up at the workstation and grabbed the pen, writing as furiously fast as he could, as large as he could, _I SAID YOU HAD BETTER NOT TAKE IT THE WRONG WAY. GET OUT OF HERE._ He held the paper up at Snuffy, shaking it.

"Okay!" Snuffy shouted, still clutching his elbow. "I'm going!"

"Good night," Joey said, turning back to his work, not bothering to watch him leave.

 

* * *

 

When Billy's alarm went off, Joey was sitting at the desk, flipping through Snuffy's _Complete Works_. Billy sat up, rubbing his eyes. He felt groggier than usual.

"Sleepless?" Billy asked, frowning at the book. Wasn't like Joey not to sleep in.

"Kind of," Joey said. "I've been thinking about the plays I haven't read in a while."

"Anything different than you remember?"

"Yeah," Joey said, closing the book with a laugh. "Hamlet annoys me."

"I don't know," Billy said. "I felt sorry for him, and even sorrier for Horatio."

"I used to like the guy," Joey said. "A lot. I was so proud of the essay I wrote sophomore year, man. I spent hours on that, I mean _hours_. Days of preparation, too."

"You were here then, right?" Billy asked.

"Yeah. It was my first year at Regis."

"Did Oger teach sophomore English?"

"He teaches everybody except the freshmen."

Billy got out of bed, then stretched.

"So, what did he think?"

Joey glanced down at his hands, embarrassed.

"He said it was the best sophomore essay he'd ever seen, but that I let the guy off too easy. Imagine that. A guy with a ghost and revenge on his heels. Too _easy_."

"Yeah," Billy said, scratching his neck. "I'm glad, uh, I got one of those out of the way."

"Oh, shut up," Joey whispered, covering his mouth with the heel of his hand, either about to laugh or about to yell at him. Billy wasn't sure which.

"Sorry. I should think before I say shit."

"Billy, I'm about to crack up here."

Billy smiled weakly, the relief not nearly as sweet as it should've been.

"I've gotta shower," he said, heading for the door.

"Good idea," Joey said, and followed him.

The trouble wasn't so much that Billy didn't know _what_ to get Joey for Valentine's Day; rather, it was the trouble of narrowing down the possibilities while keeping in mind certain…idiosyncrasies. Sure, Joey could eat, but he didn't _need_ to, and he only ever wanted chocolate and tea anyway, maybe an onion ring or a French fry here and there when the other guys weren't looking. Chocolate was all well and good—Billy had grabbed some the weekend before when he'd taken the bus to Boston, which had been hell to accomplish, because Joey had been along and making an unusual nuisance of himself—but it wasn't exactly original, overdone as fuck.

He could think of something else, but Joey was still afraid of his own clockwork, and it wouldn't do to push the matter. He couldn't _blame_ Joey, either. There was something freaky about having to face down the fact, _really_ face it down, that your lover was a ghost. Dead. That had implications written all over it.

When it came down to it, all Billy could hope for was that Joey would appreciate the only thing that he could really give him that he hadn't given him already, and that was _life_. His life. As much of it as he could possibly spare, for as long as he could.

The thought came to him during history, and he shivered with it, back in the shower again, lost in the feel of Joey's fingers and mouth, the sound of his breath.

He only breathed when they were like that, and Billy knew it.

That night, Joey was withdrawn, unusually quiet. At dinnertime, he said he'd rather stay behind, he had some more reading to do. Billy pointed out that he didn't _have_ to do it, and that Phil and Snuffy were getting used to having him around. Joey shrugged.

"I need some time alone."

"I don't understand," Phil said under his breath, grabbing a tray and handing it to Billy. "What's his problem? He's been acting weird, hasn't he?"

"You insensitive fuck, you know what tomorrow is?" Billy hissed, pushing him along.

"Well, yeah!" Phil said defensively, making a grab at the silverware. "But it's been going on for a couple weeks at least. I think he's hiding something. You asked him to help plan any pranks? D'you have any idea how kick-ass it would be if—"

"Yeah, I've thought of it," Billy said, grabbing the plate of pizza and green beans that Artie set up on the platform, "but that doesn't mean I'm going to push him. That's tasteless. He's already bugged enough by day to day shit, you know?"

"He was afraid to touch me till recently," Phil said, frowning at his tray.

"Case in point," Billy said, nudging Phil's back till he headed for the soda dispenser. "He's been through enough. I couldn't ask him to do anything he didn't want to."

"Something's eating you, too."

"Phil, there's not a hell of a lot I can do about that."

"Geez, okay. Sorry I brought it up."

"Nah, that's all right," Billy said, patting his shoulder. "I'm glad you give a fuck."

Phil turned and looked at him, abandoning his cup under the Coke spigot.

"You'd have to kill me," he said, "and even then, I'd still care."

They staked out the table and waited for the others to arrive. Phil chewed on his straw nervously, hardly picking at his food. Billy wondered if it had anything to do with the casting. It wasn't that Phil had issues with playing a woman, or at least not _that_ many issues, but Billy could imagine that it would be difficult playing opposite the guy who was not only your best friend, but your _roommate_. Spending that kind of time on top of each other both onstage and off would, after a while, chafe.

Billy frowned at his plate and muttered, "Didn't need that."

"What?" Phil asked, eyes watching Snuffy and Hank make progress through the line.

"Never mind," Billy said.

When they got to the table, Snuffy and Hank were having a full-blown argument. Hank hadn't auditioned this time around, so it couldn't be about that. Then again, maybe it could. Snuffy could hang an argument on any _thing_ with any _body_.

"That," Hank was saying, "is the most juvenile thing I've ever heard. Grow _up_."

"Oh, like _you_ hadn't thought of it?"

"I think they should be lucky you're not directing," Hank said, taking a seat beside Phil. "Somebody pass the salt?"

"Blow me," Snuffy muttered, stirring his soup in irritation.

"I won't ask," Billy said, and handed the shaker to Hank.

Ric showed up about half an hour before the cafeteria was due to close, badly out of breath. "Sorry I'm late," he said. "Was trying to get that problem set finished."

"Thanks for never telling me you were a math whiz," Phil said, poking his green beans.

"You never asked, loser," Ric said, collapsing in Joey's chair, then standing again.

"Uh, is—"

"No," Billy and Phil said in unison.

"Too busy to hang with the masses?" Ric asked, still mildly bitter.

"Too moody," Snuffy corrected, swilling his milk around.

"What did you say?" Billy asked, setting down his pizza, interest piqued.

"It's good to see him back to normal, that's all," Snuffy said, taking a slurping sip from his straw. "What, you hadn't _noticed_? You only fucking _live_ with him."

"You're such a jerk, Snuff," Phil said before Billy could respond.

"Yeah, but so's he."

"Did something happen," Billy asked, tilting his head, "that I'm not aware of?"

"Fine," Snuffy said. "I was kind of out to look at the cast list last night, and on my way up the hall, what should I see but a pile of magazine clippings floating there reading it?"

Billy chewed on the inside of his cheek, listening.

Apparently amazed that he didn't interrupt, Snuffy continued, "Yeah. So I waited till he was done, then stopped to look at it myself, and figured by the way he was going that he must be headed for the art room. Sure enough, yeah. When I knocked—"

"What part of 'Shut your goddamned mouth' don't you understand?" Joey hissed out of nowhere, catching Snuffy's head in a vise-lock from behind, the crook of his elbow snug over Snuffy's mouth. He glanced up at Billy, not quite apologetic. "Uh, hey."

"How long have you been here?" Phil asked, white as his napkin.

"Long enough," Joey said, giving Snuffy's head a hard yank backwards.

"Mmmm _hmf_!" Snuffy gasped, scrabbling at Joey's arm, which probably looked like a fucking amazing pantomime to everybody watching who couldn't see Joey.

"Let go of him," Billy said, refusing to break eye contact. "It's an asthma attack, got it?"

"Can't fucking keep his mouth shut for five _fucking_ minutes—"

"Joey," Billy said softly, pleading. "Let him go."

"Fine," Joey said, loosening his hold, lifting his arm away. He smacked the back of Snuffy's head for good measure, at which Snuffy yelled and went face-first into his pizza.

"That's _it_ ," Snuffy shouted, starting to rise, sauce all over his face. "I'm gonna fucking _murder_ —"

"Too late for that," Joey said tauntingly, lounging back against the wall.

"Whatever the problem is," said a loud voice from halfway across the cafeteria, "I'm sure it can be solved without undue loss of life and limb. Come, come, Mr. Bradberry, what _are_ you fussing about? Well?"

Dr. Gould didn't stop till he stood about three feet away from them, arms folded across his chest. His expression was the farthest thing from amused that Billy had ever seen.

Snuffy loosened his grip on the back of his chair and rubbed his jaw, shaking.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said quietly. "I was practicing."

"Practicing what?" Gould asked, narrowing his eyes doubtfully.

"For the play, sir," Snuffy said, straightening up, frightfully earnest. "I've been cast as the villain, sir."

"Have you, now," said Gould, nodding slowly. "For what reasons, exactly," he asked, "would you call Caliban our production's villain?"

"He wants to overthrow Prospero," Snuffy said lamely, as if he'd forgotten he was talking to an elderly British gentleman who'd probably memorized Shakespeare in Latin when he was still in diapers. "And he's…he's…"

"You had better give your approach a little more thought," Gould said almost cheerfully, nodding again. "Carry on. But remember, there's more to method-acting than frightening your friends. You might try a place more secluded next time, hm?"

"Yes, sir," Snuffy said, defeated, sinking back into his seat.

"That," Billy said, watching Gould walk away, "was comedy gold."

Joey was still leaning against the wall, and while he looked a bit rattled by the situation, even as if he might be sorry for it, there was a small, calculating smile on his face.

"That," Phil said, glancing first at Joey, then at Billy, "is the kind of thing I'm talking about, only that was a complete fucking _accident_."

"If you think I'll act in your goddamned pranks, too," Snuffy said, bringing his fist down on the table so hard that their trays rattled, "you're all fucking crazy."

"I agree with that last part, pranks or not," Hank said, busily cutting his pizza.

"I never thought of that," Ric said, eyes lighting up. "Wow, d'you think Joey—"

"Don't push it," Joey said, giving Ric a hard look.

Ric's eyes flew wide, followed by his hands up in the air.

"I won't! Promise!"

"Oh, Jesus _Christ_ ," Joey muttered, turning around so that his forehead bonked into the wall. "Just what I needed."

"Um, sorry?" Ric said, blinking rapidly in Joey's general direction.

"Forget it," Joey said, sinking down to sit on the floor. "I give up."

"Ric's seat is free, you know," Phil said, pointing to the empty chair.

"I'm fine, thanks," Joey said, staring at the ceiling.

"What's he saying?" Snuffy asked, desperate.

"Probably that you're a fucking asshole," Hank said. "Eat your shit."

"Yours first, _roomie_."

"I've had enough of this," Billy said, grabbing his tray and standing up. Whatever the fuck was going on, none of them cared all that much to tell him, even Joey.

He was halfway to the room when Phil and Joey caught up with him, both of them panting, wide-eyed with concern. Almost frightening, how in-synch they were.

"You want me to talk to Snuffy?" Phil asked. "He's a fucking prick."

"I can explain," Joey said, reflexively reaching for Billy's arm. "It—"

"Upstairs," Billy said, taking hold of Joey's arm before Joey could grab his. "If you wanna take a crack at Snuffy, fine," Billy said to Phil, "but don't expect much."

He held the door for Joey, and as soon as they were both inside the room, closed it as hard as he could without having to admit that he'd slammed it. He punched in the lock, then turned to find Joey already sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands folded in his lap, almost contrite, a disobedient child awaiting uncertain punishment. It broke him.

"Joey, don't do this to me," Billy said, dropping down beside him, one hand on Joey's knee. "I'm not angry, okay? I just wanna know what the fuck's going on."

"Snuffy ruins everything," he said, anger springing to life again. "I can't believe he said that. I told him—"

"Joey, _what_ ," Billy said slowly, squeezing Joey's knee gently, "exactly, did he say? You grabbed him before he could get much of anywhere. All I know is that he caught you out in the art room. I know the door locks. Did you let him _in_?"

"Yeah," Joey said. "He'd seen the lights, could see shit moving around. What was I supposed to do?"

"Don't know," Billy said. "I mean, if he didn't look like he was out to cause trouble…"

"He wasn't," Joey said. "He just wanted to talk. He said he'd figured out a way, and it was the same way I'd thought of back in the day, so I took a chance, read his mind, and led him over to the scrap paper pile."

"You touched him?" Billy asked, feeling his stomach tighten.

"Yeah, what the hell else could I do? He's deaf as a doornail. I grabbed the paper, and he followed it over to where I was working, then I took the pen out of his pocket to drive the point home and started writing with it. Things were going pretty good till he got touchy about the play, and then we decided we were even, but he kept pushing it. He was about to leave, but he decided he wanted to take the paper as a souvenir, and I couldn't let him do that. Ran at him, restrained him, tried whispering right in his fucking ear, but all he did was shove me off and crouch under the table whimpering, and I had to get the goddamned paper and fucking spell out—"

"Joey, that's the worst thing you could've done," Billy said softly, staring down at Joey's hand, which had somehow ended up clenched so hard around his own it was painful.

"What, talk to him? There was no other way I was gonna get him to shut up! If he'd kept banging on the door, somebody might've come and—"

"No," Billy said. "Grabbing him."

"What I said in his ear," Joey said, voice low and fierce, "was that he had better not take it the wrong way, and I even wrote it out for him in big, fucking letters when I realized he hadn't heard a single word. I'm not stupid, Billy. He wanted me, and because you had me, he wants you. I pity Hank every day he breathes," Joey said bitterly, shaking Billy's hand in agitation. "How can you fall for somebody like that? How can you _care_?"

"You cared," Billy said slowly, "enough to let him in."

"Yeah, but—"

"Because that's what we do, okay? We care about each other. I don't care how fucking sappy it sounds, and I think Hank understands it better than anybody."

Joey sighed deeply, eyes fixed on the floor.

"I wish it hadn't turned out like this."

"You and me both," Billy whispered, helpless. There was no fixing this. They were all broken, taped together with Scotch, running around and losing pieces like loose change.

"I was gonna wait till tomorrow," Joey said, "but I'm gonna say screw that. Happy Valentine's Day, Billy."

He brought Billy's hand up to his mouth and kissed it, then went to stand up, tugging on Billy's hand when he just kept on sitting there, too exhausted to move himself.

"I made you something," Joey explained, telling him to stand still with a gesture. He dropped down on his hands and knees and reached under the bed, pulling out something long, wide, and flat. Billy had to back up almost to the opposite wall so that Joey didn't pull it right into his shoes. It was a miracle Joey had been able to hide it.

"Joey, that's…"

Joey shrugged and dusted his hands off, eyes fixed on the collage.

"It's all I could do," he said, quiet and despairing.

 _All?_ Words and pictures, colors, jagged edges and curves, none of it disjointed. Most collages looked like glorified ransom notes, but this was about twice as big and ten times as carefully assembled. Hands and eyes, trees and letters, buildings and landscapes. Billy knew that some of the quotations were Shakespeare, but he also knew that the majority of them came from places that he'd never even tried to reach, that Joey had felt his way into them on his long, secret path through the dark. There was unspeakable pain there, unspeakable care, and unspeakable _light_. How Joey could see was beyond him.

Billy realized that he was on his knees beside Joey, touching the images with helpless longing. Some things, you couldn't see, but if you had the patience to string the brokenness of everything together in one long, exhausting chain of circumstance…

"No," he said, shaking his head. "It's everything."

The smart thing would have been to collect themselves and get the collage hung up somewhere, but Billy found it reassuring that thinking seemed to be the last thing on Joey's mind, too. The paper and poster board felt strange underneath him, even through his t-shirt, like rough, unfamiliar ground without benefit of a blanket. Joey had seldom thrown him like this, pinned him, put him entirely at the mercy of whatever fury it was that kept Joey burning. Sometimes, that's all he was: fire and unshakeable faith.

No, not sometimes, Billy thought, bringing his arms up around Joey, clinging with all of his strength. He had never, ever been anything else, and now, that was _all_.

"Fuck, gotta get off this," Joey mumbled against his mouth, urgently shaking Billy's shoulder. "I'm so fucking stupid. Get up. I'm gonna ruin it."

"What do you mean, _you're_ gonna ruin it," Billy laughed, sitting up so fast that his head spun, Joey blurring with his vision. "Takes two to tango."

"I," Joey said, taking hold of his hands, pulling him to his feet, careful to step off of the collage, "don't want to dance."

"Then, um—what—" Billy landed on his back again, shoved down roughly on the bed. Jesus Christ, this was kind of unnerving. Joey crawled up and over him, hot as flame.

"Don't have to tell you," he murmured, and the kiss was slow, _so_ slow, that Billy imagined he'd wake up with whiplash and not even want to go to class. Wait, fuck class. Not only was tomorrow Valentine's Day, but it was _Friday_. Class could suck it.

"Joey," he whispered, because that was the only word that could hold everything.

They'd had worse times of getting undressed, but this definitely wasn't near the top of the most-graceful list. Joey was so impatient that Billy wondered for a second if this wasn't some sprite, some vengeful Ariel in the shape of his beloved, but when Joey went still against him and whispered, _your turn_ , he chased the thought from their island.

"I know this is an inopportune time, but I'm officially _still_ weirded out by your clothes," Billy said, head spinning as he dropped Joey's shirt on the floor, careful to miss the collage. "Do you have any theories? Because if you do, I'm dying to hear 'em."

"All—" Joey kissed Billy's neck as he worked at the fastening of Joey's jeans "—I know is—" another kiss, this one at his collarbone, soft lips giving way to determined teeth "—I can take stuff—" a third kiss, full on his mouth, alive with yearning "—with me."

Screw talking. He had Joey's jeans down as far as his hips, and all it took was a few more careful tugs to catch his boxers along with, then pull them off entirely.

Joey twisted up to meet him, catching Billy around the hips with one inescapable leg. Billy swore softly against his mouth, holding back for a second before letting Joey's hand at the back of his head coax him back down again, choking out, "Careful—"

"Yeah," Joey breathed, the kiss falling off-center against his chin. "Right."

Instead of holding him there, Joey changed his mind, squirming around in Billy's arms until his back was to Billy's front, one arm clasping Billy's tight around his waist, tempting. He ran his fingers from elbow to fingertips, making Billy shiver.

"Oh, Jesus," Billy whispered. "You can't—"

"Mean it? Like _fuck_ I can't."

"Joey!"

Mindless, now, that this trust was open before him, this divide worse than any he'd ever had to cross, Billy drew in his breath and prayed—maybe to God, maybe to Shakespeare, maybe to whoever had done this, had given him this, had _trusted him enough_ —

"Breathe," Joey said softly, tugging Billy's hand up to his mouth, "We've been here."

_Billy held his breath and ran his fingers across his belly, then reached down between them to brush cool slickness against Joey, pushing tentatively._

_"Doesn't mean we can't have that bed someday."  Joey's breath hitched, more than just Billy's fingers slipping inside him._

_"Yeah, I know."_

"Oh, God," Billy whispered, burying his face against Joey's nape. It was happening. They were doing this. They were really, honestly, finally doing this, no holding back.

"Doesn't hurt," Joey whispered, voice hollow with wonder. "At all. And we've got—"

_"A bedroom with walls big enough to hold all of your paintings when you're famous," Billy said, kissing the nape of Joey's neck as he guided his cock into place.   Joey laughed instead of gasping at Billy's first push._

_"Floors big enough for all of your dirty clothes and remote control shit."_

"Oh, oh _fuck_ ," Billy groaned, arms tightening around Joey's middle, the tightness in his stomach releasing as he slid inside, wincing at the slight discomfort of doing this without lube, which was lost somewhere in all the packing, irretrievable. " _Joey_ —"

"I have you," Joey whispered, reaching back to catch his hip, press him home.

The island tilted, and save for this safekeeping, Billy plunged and drowned.

 

* * *

 

"You," Snuffy said to Billy at dinner the next day, "look like death warmed over."

Billy just shrugged at him and sat down. Joey had to smile at the easy indifference, and also at the fact that Snuffy hadn't had a good lay in so long that he didn't know what somebody worn out by sex looked like, no offense to Hank. He took his usual seat.

"Guess we're not alone, huh?" Snuffy asked, staring at Joey's chair.

"Nope," Joey said, reaching over and idly taking hold of Billy's hand.

"I don't think I'm going to answer your question," Billy said coolly, then brought Joey's hand up to his mouth and kissed it. Oh, man. So fucking cruel it was beautiful.

"You guys are sadists," Snuffy said, majestically turning his attention back to his plate, which was loaded up with several things that didn't even count as food.

"Maybe," Billy said, lazily stroking the back of Joey's hand. "Where's Hank?"

"Why should I know?" Snuffy said around a mouthful of Jell-O. "We're not chained at the hip."

"Somebody," Joey said, leaning forward, chin on his free hand, "has bondage issues."

Billy covered his mouth, but it didn't keep him from laughing so hard that Joey thought he might fall off his chair and drag them both to the floor. He held Billy's hand tightly.

"But I _can_ tell you," Snuffy said, smirking, "that Phil and Ric just left here fighting like an old married couple. "First read-through was after eighth period. You should've seen it. Best show in town."

"Sorry," Billy said, stifling a yawn behind Joey's hand, then kissing Joey's palm. "I had better things to do."

Snuffy considered this for a moment, and his face broke out in an expression that was the farthest thing from sarcasm that Joey could imagine. Uncertainty, disbelief— _disgust_.

"Okay, you know what?" he said, abruptly picking up his tray and rising. "That, my friend, is fucking scary, and a lot of other things I won't mention, because I'm eating."

Fury burned through Joey, white-hot and _terrible_. Billy clamped down on his hand so hard that he didn't even have to _remember_ pain; it was startling and real and shook him so badly that he tried to break free, but all he managed to do was slam back into the chair an vibrate with the shock of what Snuffy was insinuating.

"You have five seconds to find another table," Billy said reasonably, "before I decide to do worse to you than Joey ever could, and that's saying something."

Snuffy blanched, backing away.

"I'm gone."

"Damn straight you are," Joey whispered, pressing his mouth against Billy's knuckles. "That—that he could—how _dare_ —"

"Some people just aren't open-minded enough," Billy said, and tugged Joey's hand back, stroking it gently. "Shhh," he said, glancing around briefly before letting go of it and putting his arm across the back of Joey's chair, scooting his own closer. "C'mere."

Joey huddled against Billy's shoulder, shaking. He'd known anger, but never like this. It was cold in a way that he couldn't define, in a way that was terrifying and _fatal_.

Of course, that was a lie. He'd felt it only once, and it had cost him everything.

"I love you," he whispered, clutching desperately at Billy's shirt. "Billy, I love—"

"Joey, calm down," he whispered, so soft that it was better felt than heard as Billy turned his head, bringing his mouth to rest against Joey's hair. "I've got you, too."

Joey closed his eyes, nodding.

What he couldn't say was, _I don't know for how long_.

 

* * *

 

Billy decided that his best course of action was not to talk to Snuffy at all, and as soon as he told Phil what had happened, Phil was in agreement. He wasn't sure that they could get Hank to agree to the blacklisting, as acting like the person you lived with didn't exist wasn't usually a good idea, but he said that Ric would agree to it at the drop of a hat.

Joey had taken to staying in the room again, rereading his favorite books and decorating the walls. He'd put the collage up over the bed, and he'd managed to find a handful of interesting things to pin in other blank spaces: sketches, cassette tape inserts, notes.

"If you can hang 'Soldier Joey and the Screaming Pink Brigade Rules' above my bed," Joey said, arms folded across his chest, "then I can hang 'Billy Tepper has a statue fetish' over your desk."

"It was only a prank!" Billy protested. "I don't have a _history_ with statues."

"And I'm no more a soldier than you are," Joey said, smiling for the first time in days, and kissed him. It was Monday evening, and with the others at rehearsal, there was peace.

Exactly a week after Valentine's Day, Parker called Billy up to his office again, and this time, something about the tone of his note meant business. Billy let himself in without waiting for Parker to extend the invitation, and Parker was waiting on the couch.

"It has been brought to my attention," Parker said with a heavy sigh, "that there's been some kind of trouble between you and Mr. Bradberry. Would you care to elaborate?"

Billy folded his arms across his chest, sitting back defiantly. _Nobody_ threatened Joey.

"Let's just say he's been getting a little too…personal."

Parker frowned and leaned forward a bit, tilting his head at a suspicious angle.

"This conversation," he said carefully, "doesn't leave this room. What do you mean by 'personal,' exactly? Has he—" hesitation here, another deep breath, like he'd rather be doing anything in the world but having this conversation "—made unwanted advances?"

"Sort of, but it's more complicated than that," Billy said, instantly regretting it.

"Billy, this is dangerous territory," Parker said. "It could get you both expelled."

"We're not involved!" Billy shouted, standing up. "Listen, you've got to—"

"Calm down, Mr. Tepper. I did _not_ say that."

Billy sank back down in the chair, shaking from head to foot. He'd talked himself into a corner, so he'd probably have to tell the truth. The only problem was, Parker wouldn't believe it even if Joey waltzed in wearing a tutu and bonked him over the head with a wand. It wasn't likely, anyway. Unless—

"Sir, bear with me for a minute," Billy said cautiously. "I promise this has something to do with it, but you've got to _listen_ to me, okay?"

Parker nodded, folding his hands under his chin.

"Do you remember that night you went out to close the gate?"

"I've done that on a number of occasions, Billy," Parker said, trying to keep calm, but already there was a strange rise in his voice, a distinct tension in his posture.

"I mean the day the new guy quit," Billy said carefully. "Before you hired the second one."

"I'm not sure how you know about this," Parker said, hands falling loose, sitting up straight, "but this is compelling, and might just get you in even more trouble."

"I've got to take that chance," Billy said, swallowing. "Anyway, that evening, Ric and I were outside. I'm not gonna go into particulars, but what you need to know is that we saw it with our own eyes. I mean, we saw _all_ of it."

"There was nothing," Parker said, jaw taut, "out of the ordinary. Do you understand me?"

"No, sir," Billy said, pressing on before he could lose his nerve. "I don't, because what we saw was pretty fucking out of the ordinary."

"Watch your—"

"Please," Billy said, putting both hands in the air. "I think we've gone past that point, okay?"

"Be that as it may," Parker said, fuming, "you're on thin ice."

"Ric saw Frank," Billy said, finally letting his breath out, choking with it.

Parker's eyes got impossibly wider.

"He—what?"

"Ric, if I had him here," Billy said, looking Parker square in the eye, "would swear on the Bible—or whatever the hell you'd want him to swear on—that he saw Frank close that gate. The question is, I guess, whether or not my word is still as good as you said it was."

Parker's jaw was practically on the floor, which was exactly where Billy wanted it.

"Now, what this has to do with Snuffy is," Billy said, "is even harder for me to say, but, as you pointed out, I'm on thin ice, so I've just got to keep going and hope I reach the other side. It's like this: Frank's not the only ghost around here, and Snuffy's giving me a hard time about the company I keep."

Parker's jaw worked once, twice, then shut again, lips set in a tight line.

"And still, _still_ ," Billy said, finally lowering his head, hit by the full impact of what he'd admitted to, "I can't tell you one single _fucking_ goddamned lie."

He heard Parker clear his throat, then steeled himself for the worst.

"That," Parker said carefully, "is the most far-fetched thing you've ever said to me."

"I'm sorry," Billy whispered, pinching the bridge of his nose, "but it's—"

"I know," Parker said, voice heavy, "and that's where I face a conundrum, because as whimsical as Dr. Gould can be, I don't think he puts stock in the supernatural."

Billy lifted his head, wiping his eyes, disbelieving.

"Sir?"

"My advice to you," Parker said, "is to keep this to yourself, or to whoever else you trust with it. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," Billy said, simply glad that he'd survived an unplanned office gauntlet of doom that had all but threatened his graduation. "You couldn't be any clearer."

Parker nodded, rubbing his forehead like he needed a whole bottle of aspirin.

"As for Mr. Bradberry, I will be having a word with him, but it will be a very different conversation from the one that we've had here, and he _will_ be warned."

"Thanks," Billy said softly. If he seemed vulnerable, fuck it. There were so few places he _could_ be. "I appreciate it. You have no idea what it's doing to—"

"My other condition," Parker said, "is that you never mention it to me again, either. There's only so much _I_ can take, if you can believe it. I'd like to get through this with my sanity intact."

Billy sat back, eyes wide, completely floored.

"Uh. Yes, sir."

Parker just kept nodding into his hands, eyes fixed on the coffee table.

"Very good. Now, get out of here, and if you swear in front of me one more time, I'm putting you back on pots and pans until the end of the school year."

"Got it," Billy said, and bolted.

 

* * *

 

"Jesus," Joey whispered, stupefied. "I wish I'd gone."

"No, you don't," Billy said under his breath. "It was fucking traumatic."

"At least Snuffy'll get off your case," Phil said. "Or he'd better, anyway."

"Can we have, ah, less talking from the back row?" Oger called from the front of the auditorium. Snuffy, Robert, and some sharp-featured sophomore with long hair were all on stage, rehearsing a segment as Caliban, Prospero, and Ariel.

"Yes," Ric called, which was funny, because he hadn't even been talking. "Sorry, sir!"

"All right. Mr. Anderson, ah, if you please…"

"What about Hank?" Ric whispered, casting a brief glance in Joey's direction. He was getting better, almost as good as Phil at first. "He's unreasonable when it comes to Snuffy either way you look at it. He takes a lot of pleasure in fighting him, but he takes even more—"

"I blame myself," Billy said, shaking his head. "If I had realized he'd take my 'stick up for each other no matter what' bullshit so literally—"

"It wasn't bullshit," Phil hissed, elbowing Billy hard, jostling him into Joey.

"Would you cut that out?" Joey said aloud, giving Phil an irritated look. "I'm trying to watch."

"Only you," Phil muttered, "would be watching the stage at a time like this."

"Best time to do it," Joey explained. "The only way I can stand Snuffy is when he's not Snuffy."

"He's a good Caliban," Billy said softly.

"He's a good anything," Ric admitted. "His audition's next week. He's gonna get in."

"What?" Joey demanded, with Billy and Phil only a split second behind him.

Oger cleared his throat loudly.

"Gentlemen—"

"We're _sorry_!" Phil yelled, catching a nasty glare from Snuffy up on stage.

"Yale," Ric whispered.

"Oh," Phil said, vaguely disappointed.

"Are you really a totally insensitive fuck?" Ric asked him.

"Are you really a totally insensitive sensitive?"

"Jesus Christ," Joey muttered, rising, fed up. "If you can't stop squabbling like a bunch of two year-olds, I'm out of here."

"Actually," Billy said, "most two year-olds have more sense. He's right. I'm going."

"Thanks for nothing," Phil said glumly, staring at the floor. "See you later."

"What's _his_ problem?" Joey asked Ric, leaning across Billy to tap him on the shoulder. As hit-and-miss as the method was, it sometimes worked. Ric looked up.

"Oh," he said, shrugging. "We have a scene coming up."

"Good luck," Billy said, and gave Joey a nudge in the direction of the aisle.

"No, no," Joey said, raising his voice enough to echo through the whole auditorium. "You want to do some real damage? How about—"

"Joey," Phil hissed, standing up, starting to follow them, "what do you think you're—"

" _MACBETH_!"

And for a moment, time stood still, because the entire auditorium fell silent, Oger and actors alike. Billy turned his head slowly, eyes wide and disbelieving.

"Joey, we've gotta _go_ ," he said, and shoved Joey with all his weight.

 _So this_ , Joey thought, wild with laughter as they ran, _is flying_.

 

* * *

 

"Fortunately for you," Snuffy said, leaning against the door frame, ignoring the fact that he'd been invited in, "Oger has a betters sense of humor than you'd think. Also, he seems to think you're a saint this semester, and everybody else agreed that it wasn't your voice."

"Well, it wasn't," Billy said, giving Snuffy his best innocent look.

"Nope," Joey said, "and proud of it."

"He just said something, didn't he?"

"Yeah," Billy said. "He's proud."

"Of cursing the whole fucking show the week before spring break? What are you, Joey, a fucking lunatic? That's the oldest, truest curse in the goddamned book!"

"It's just superstition," Joey said, shrugging at Billy.

"He says it's just superstition, and I agree with him."

"You would," Snuffy muttered. "Lovesick fool. _Next_ oldest curse in the book."

"Proud of it," Billy said, turning back to his math homework.

"Look, I didn't come here to fight again," Snuffy said wearily.

"No shit," Billy said, turning the page of his textbook. "I asked you here so we could patch shit up."

"And I was just letting you know that your ass is off the hook. The auditorium is now officially haunted. Ric told everybody that you ran because you were scared shitless."

"Ahaha," Joey laughed. "Good one."

Billy stared at him, disbelieving.

"Ooh, what?" Snuffy asked, finally stepping into the room, shoving the door shut behind him. "Must've been good, your eyes are like—"

"Has Parker talked with you yet?" Billy said, ignoring Joey, cutting to the chase.

Snuffy's expression fell flat.

"Yes."

"And you understood what he was saying?"

"In no uncertain terms," Snuffy said, flawlessly imitating Parker's enunciation.

"Whoa," Joey said.

"Then I don't have anything to add to that," Billy said, giving up on the problem set. "Have we reached a truce? I'm not gonna spend all next week at Phil's place with you sulking around and making snide comments and upsetting Joey."

By now, Snuffy looked like a kicked puppy.

"I've upset him?"

Billy tilted his head, unable to process what Snuffy had just said. It clashed so badly with the earnest, pathetic expression Snuffy was wearing that Billy had to wonder if he'd missed something. Who could stand there and _say_ something like that when—

"He can call me a wop if he wants to, remember?" Joey said quietly, and that's when it dawned on Billy that he really _had_ missed something.

"You have no idea how badly it hurts when you say shit like that to your friends, do you?" Billy asked, incredulous.

Snuffy shrank back, clinging to the doorknob.

"It's like…look, you know me, why is it such a big _deal_ if I get carried away sometimes?"

"It's a really big deal," Joey said, looking him straight in the eye.

"Oh, man," Snuffy whispered, and slid down the wall into the corner.

"I'm not going to say another word," Billy said, nodding at Joey, "because I'm not the one you need to hear it from, got it?"

Snuffy nodded mutely, eyes widening as Joey loomed over him.

"The bottom line is," Joey said carefully, folding his arms across his chest, probably so Snuffy wouldn't think he was about to pummel him, "you can't take for granted that people can just wave things off. You know me, right? I'm not like that."

Snuffy nodded once, sharply, then looked up again, all eyes. Billy had to stand up to catch all of what was going on, and he felt kind of ashamed of that, but it was worth it.

"Also," Joey said, "what you said the other day in the caf was worse than _anything_ you've ever said to me, or Billy, and the rest of us combined."

"I didn't mean it," Snuffy croaked.

"Your facial expression suggested otherwise."

"Okay, okay, so I was just a _tad_ freaked out by that," Snuffy said, gathering strength, using the walls to lever himself back into a standing position so he could look Joey straight in the eye. "Can I ask you to pretend, just for a second, that it was Hank who—look, don't make me say it—and I'd come in there and said, more or less, hey, I just got—"

"Okay," Billy said, forcing the words, covering his eyes. "I was over the top."

Joey was silent, which was probably the best that they should expect.

"I'm just saying," Snuffy said earnestly, "that I can't help the way I reacted, and I made the stupid decision to make a joke of it. That's _all_. Fuck, you think I'm not _happy_ for you? Billy, Joey fucking saved your _life_!"

"I can't deal with this right now," Joey said, and Billy uncovered his eyes in time to see Joey stalk over to the bed and climb onto it, hiding his face in the pillow.

Snuffy flung his hands at the ceiling and swore, gesturing at helplessly.

"Listen, you'd better go," Billy said, taking him by the shoulder and opening the door. "But, um, listen…thanks, I know…"

"I meant it," Snuffy said, already in tears, clutching at Billy's arm. "I didn't—"

"He's undone because you saw him, and he has to come to terms with that," Billy hissed, forcing Snuffy into the hall. "This is so, _so_ hard that I can't even begin to _express_ to you what he's been—"

"Hell is empty, and all the devils are here," Snuffy whispered.

"Shut up," Billy said, giving him a push, "before I decide I can bring myself to hate you."

Even as he watched Snuffy leave, there was no comfort in knowing who they were and where they stood, and that the storm, wild as it was, was entirely in his hands.

 

* * *

 

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," Joey said, terrified, staring down at the snow. He was shaking from head to foot, and he knew that Billy didn't dare reach out to him.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," Billy said, taking a deep breath, tucking his hands deep in his pockets. It was so cold that his lips had turned faintly blue.

"What is it, my son?" asked Father Jim, walking slowly, deliberately alongside him.

Joey closed his eyes, felt the panic rise in his throat.

"I've been hating certain people for so long that I don't know how to stop."

Billy took a shaky breath, as if it touched something too close to home.

"I can't…I don't know how to stop hating someone," he mumbled.

Joey reached over and grabbed his hand, whispering, "I'm sorry."

"This is not uncommon," Father Jim said carefully, "but that doesn't make it right."

"No," Billy agreed. "It doesn't."

Joey squeezed his hand, nodding. Through the glove, he couldn't feel Billy's pulse, and it unnerved him to have lost his own so entirely. The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away.

"Do you think this is why you're still having a difficult time relating to your friends?" asked Father Jim, ever circumspect, ever gentle. He really was a decent priest.

"Without question," Joey said.

"Yes," Billy said. "To a certain extent. I'm okay with most of them, but…"

Father Jim chuckled, sounding not so much amused as that he'd actually been there himself, and that he remembered all too well what it was like to hold a grudge.

"But one still eludes you," he said.

"Yeah," Joey said. "No matter what I do. He makes it so fucking hard, you know?"

"He makes it really, _really_ hard to forgive him," Billy said, staring out across the quad. "I mean, he's made a lot of progress, and I know he's sorry, but he just—"

"You've apologized to _him_?"

"Well, no," Joey said, chewing on his lip.

"I've started," Billy said, elbowing Joey gently. "I'm _trying_."

Joey stopped in his tracks, letting go of Billy's wrist.

"You fucking _what_?"

Billy glanced up at him, panic-stricken, and said, "No, I don't mean that!"

"Oh," Joey whispered, staring at the ground. "Right. Um…"

"How could you even _think_ that I meant you?" Billy demanded, not even pretending to speak for himself anymore. "How could you think even for a _second_ —"

"I don't!" Joey shouted, facing him full on. "I didn't! I just—fucking _hell_ , Billy, you've gotta watch the way you phrase shit, okay? Don't nudge me like that, and for crying out loud, don't make it seem like you're to blame!"

"It's not all Snuffy's fault," Billy said. "You know that."

Before Joey could respond, Father Jim set a hand on Billy's shoulder, turning him quietly, calmly to face him. For a split second, Joey wondered if his cover had never been there in the first place. This wasn't something they covered in Catholic school.

"Peace, my son," he said. "Please, peace."

Billy took a deep breath, then choked it back up again on a sob.

"I can't…I _can't_ …"

"There is nothing," Father Jim said, tilting Billy's chin up, which was a bold move even for him, and giving him the steadiest, _kindest_ look Joey had ever seen in him, "that time cannot heal, but time cannot heal ills alone. You must, _must_ remember love. If you cannot love them, then you cannot love yourself. And I don't need to tell you, Billy, the peril faced by those who have forgotten it."

"No," Joey said, and took hold of Billy's shoulders from behind, steadying him.

"I know," Billy whispered. "The thing is, I…love him too much to let go, and somebody's done him wrong, so _many_ people have done him wrong, I can't—"

"Are we talking about the same person?" Father Jim asked, eternally patient.

"You're not talking _to_ the same person," Joey sighed. Why had he talked Billy into this? Had he really thought it would help? There was a reason he'd been avoiding churches, and it ran a hell of a lot deeper than he'd been willing to tell Billy, or needed to.

"Yes," Billy said. "Yes and no. It's everything. I'm just…he's…it's gotten all tangled up, I didn't fix any of it when I should have, and now it's…"

"Tell me," Father Jim asked, " _how_ you could have done this? You're too hard on yourself. Wounds such as this don't heal overnight. I'm amazed that you're standing here of your own free will, entrusting this to me and to God."

Joey let his hands slide down from Billy's shoulders, lingering gently over his hands.

"Has nothing to do with God," he said, looking the priest in the eye.

"Whatever you seek," Father Jim said, reaching for Billy again, only this time to pat him gently on the arm, "I hope, through love, that you find it. _In nomine patri et filii et spiriti sanctum_." He made the Sign of the Cross over Billy, then touched his forehead. "That," he explained, "is for Lent, in which season we are, in which we must not forget."

"Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return," Joey whispered, waiting.

" _Amen_ ," Billy said, voice raw with emotion.

As they walked back to the room in perfect silence, Joey clutched Billy's hand, with all his strength, in elated disbelief: he had glimpsed Death, and Death had shied from him.

 

* * *

 

"Hey, door's open" Billy said in response to Phil's knock. "Come in!"

"Anybody with you?" Joey called, glancing up from his reading.

"No," Phil said, already halfway through the door. "Why?"

"Just wondered," Joey said, waving him in. "Close it behind you."

"You guys run the tightest room security in the school," Phil said, dropping his backpack, slouching down on the floor. He panted at the hardwood for a few minutes, then collected himself, sitting up straight. "Anybody else, I swear it's just 'as long as you have booze or bullshit, come on in.'"

"Or both," Joey said wryly, setting the book down. He was still working his way through the _Complete Works_ , and judging by how far he was, he was taking his time.

"You're a sucker for punishment," Phil said, eyeing the book.

Joey shrugged.

"Matter of perspective."

"Shakespeare," Phil said, "is kicking my _ass_."

"Bigger part than last year, huh," Billy said, tossing his calculator aside. "These problem sets are kicking _mine_. I'm surprised Gardner isn't ready to skin me."

"You're not doing that badly," Joey said, picking the book up again. He'd been restless ever since Confession, which had been his idea, and Billy suspected he regretted it.

"Well, I think Oger will live to regret casting roommates opposite each other as the romantic leads," Phil said. "Ric can't memorize lines worth shit, and every time I prompt him, he just gives me a nasty look and proceeds to forget what I just gave him."

"I can't tell you how much I wish I could be in this," Joey said suddenly, sighing.

"Snuffy said costume team is eating up your ideas," Phil said, brightening. "Thanks to you, I'm in pants!"

"See? You're there," Billy said, offering Joey an encouraging smile.

"I thought I wouldn't mind Snuffy taking the credit," Joey mumbled, staring hard at the page he was on. "We struck the deal before shit blew up."

"I thought you guys had a working truce?"

"We do," Billy said, "but as you noted, it takes work."

"Right," Phil sighed, rubbing at his cheek with a grimace. "Make-up trials. If this shit makes me break out, Ted's gonna get it."

"Ted?" Billy asked, looking up from his notebook.

"Yeah, Ted's on make-up crew, and he's the one who brought all this weird, different stuff from a costume shop in Boston," Phil explained, rubbing his fingers together. "The theater department's supply is nil after last spring, and what's left is fucking gross."

"This is early for the show," Joey commented. "Brave of Oger to do that, what with spring break sitting between the next-to-last week of rehearsal and curtain-up."

"He knew what he was doing," Phil said. "With this show? We _need_ the break."

"Getting to everybody, huh?" Billy asked, curious. For as short as it was, and as funny, it definitely had enough deep-shit content to make anybody a bit nuts. Joey'd been right.

"They've all figured out that it Means Something," Phil said in his best ominous voice. "And, of course, there was your little stunt, which, by the way, was brilliant," Phil said to Joey, grinning. "I've never seen Snuffy more cooperative in my _life_."

"Glad to be of service," Joey said, and shut the book, giving up. "So, what's the word on break?"

"Mom's coming for us after classes get out on the thirteenth," Phil said. "That… _is_ the day we get out, right? That's what I told her, anyway."

"Yeah, and it's a Friday," Joey said, drumming his fingers on the comforter.

"No kidding," Phil said. "Anyway, can't believe it's March."

"Neither can I," Billy said, shutting his notebook. Lost cause, as usual.

"Dude, you need to _relax_ ," Phil said, pointing at Billy. "You've never worked so hard in your life, have you?"

"No," Billy said honestly, casting a sidelong glance at Joey.

"He's graduating," Joey said. "What do you think?"

"Congrats, man," Phil said, waving his hand in the air. "I've got senioritis like nobody's business. I'm pulling C's on my history exams. I don't give a fuck."

"Wow," Joey said, chin in his hands. "Impressive."

"Yeah, and what about…" Phil trailed off, eyes drifting to the floor.

"Huh?" Joey asked, expectant.

"I forget," Phil said softly. "I can't tell you how many times I've forgotten."

Billy was confused for another second until Joey took Phil's meaning and closed his eyes.

"Thanks, I think," he said, flashing Phil a pained smile.

"Fuck, forget it," Phil said, rubbing his other cheek. "I didn't say that. Back to break: Mom's getting us on the thirteenth, and even though we've got through the twenty-second—I know this for sure—she has to bring us back the twentieth on account of the twins finishing up at some week-long church retreat. UU's are crazy, did you know that?"

"Yeah," Joey said. "We know _you_."

"Ha ha," Phil said, pulling himself back to his feet. "I have to go. I made Ric promise we'd run lines until he had 'em. He's not hot on humiliating himself again."

"Don't blame him," Billy said, reaching for his notebook again. "Hey, dinner?"

"Not tonight," Phil said, and saluted. "You guys have a good night."

"Yeah," Joey said, waving back. "We will."

Once they were alone, the silence was enough to swallow them both.

"I can't think," Joey said, sitting up on the bed and rubbing his temples.

"Neither can I," Billy said, swiveling away from the desk. "You wanna do something?"

"Yeah," Joey said, chewing on his lip like he was thinking.

"Don't know…there's the lounge downstairs, the art room, the quad…"

"It's only seven o'clock," Joey said. "Those places are for when you're not _supposed_ to be out."

"Right," Billy said, rubbing the back of his neck. Joey was a tough customer these days, clinging more and more to what was known and familiar—what was _safe_.

"We could bug the freshmen," Joey said, giving Billy a meaningful look.

"Yeah, we could—no, fuck, _I_ could, what the hell are you saying?"

"Same difference," Joey said, rising from the bed, walking over to take hold of Billy's hand, bringing it up to his cheek. It had become almost a ritual between them, this touch.

"I hardly know what to say to the kid," Billy confessed. "I say hello between classes and stuff like that, but he always has somewhere to be. He's smart. Not long for this place."

"Neither are you," Joey said firmly, kissing his hand.

Once they got to Derek's room—it was on the same floor, opposite direction—Billy hesitated to knock, so Joey did it for him, rapping twice, loudly and clearly.

"Who's there?"

"Uh," Billy said. "It's me. Billy."

"Oh," Derek called back. "Come in. Shouldn't be locked."

The room looked just as Billy remembered it, and it was with no small shock that he realized he hadn't been in it since the morning of the siege. Same posters, same ancient computer in the corner, same dinosaur skeleton. Billy remembered the shadow on the wall, shivering. Joey nudged him inside, unseen by Derek, who sat on his bed with a textbook open in his lap. There was a notebook to his left, open page half scribbled-on.

"Hey," Billy said awkwardly, closing the door behind him. "Just thought I'd drop by."

"Thanks," Derek said, setting the book aside. "I've been meaning to drop by, actually. We're practically neighbors now. Guess you beat me to it."

Joey sat down on the edge of Ted's mattress, crossing his ankles. He looked at Billy, attentive. Jesus, what was this, Unfinished Business Month? It made him shiver.

"Uh…where's Ted tonight?" Billy asked, scratching behind his ear.

"Stayed late at rehearsal, I guess," Derek said, shrugging. "You can sit down, you know."

"Yeah," Billy said, and sat down right beside Joey. "I know. Thanks."

"You like that spot," Derek said, tilting his head a little, wistful.

Billy gave him a blank look, but Joey elbowed him and it clicked into place.

"Maybe," Billy said, staring at the floor. It was an all-too-familiar perspective.

"I've heard that people gravitate to places," Derek said, looking up at him, eyes almost narrowed. "Do you think that's true?"

"Could be," Billy said. His throat was tightening, which made speech difficult. "Why?"

"Ted says somebody shouted _Macbeth_ in the auditorium the other day," Derek said, "and nobody could figure out who it was. They say the school's haunted now."

"That's an understatement," Joey said, staring at his feet, "and I should know."

"That might be true," Billy said softly, looking up. If he could tell Parker the truth…

"There are lots of rumors," Derek said quietly. "Did you know that?"

"No," Joey said, interest piqued.

"No," Billy said. "We…hadn't heard."

"You wouldn't have," Derek said. "Mostly it's the underclassmen. There's this weird thing with the juniors and seniors. They don't like to talk about it."

"I see," Billy said, returning Joey's anxious look.

"I've been meaning to tell you," Derek said, more insistent now.

"Rumors about…what?" Joey asked.

"What kinds of rumors?" Billy echoed, hoping he didn't sound worried.

"Rumors about ghosts," Derek said. "Rumors about why you did what you did."

That last one, Billy hadn't been expecting.

"What the hell do you mean?" Joey asked, frowning.

"They say," Derek said, filling the void when Billy didn't, "that you didn't care whether you lived or died after what happened that day on the quad."

Billy closed his eyes, heart pounding in his temples. _No_ , he thought. _Please, no_.

Joey gripped his arm, thumb rubbing circles. "I'm here," he said. "I'm _here_."

"I didn't," Billy whispered, shaking his head. "They got that much right."

"I never told you how sorry I was," Derek said, unfolding his legs, scooting to the edge of his own mattress so he could bend forward and look Billy in the eye. "I never told you," he continued, almost reverent, "that I knew for sure after I saw him walk away from you for the last time that _this_ is why they make us read stuff from time out of mind."

Billy squeezed his eyes shut tight, unable to stop the tears.

"I…I don't…"

"It never really stops," he heard Derek say, and another hand grasped his just inches from where Joey had his wrist. "I thought, 'Geez, we're going to die like in the stories, aren't we?' Except we didn't, and you knew somehow we had a fighting chance."

"There's always a chance," Billy said, but there was no sound in it except brokenness.

"You gave up more than anybody," Derek said, squeezing Billy's hand before he let go. "And I'm never going to forget that."

Billy didn't dare look over at Joey. He could hear the stifled breaths, the muffled sobs.

"And," Billy said, because fuck this, _somebody_ had to be strong in the face of it, defiantly and finally, "I can't thank you enough for that. Ever."

"You don't have to," Derek said, smiling, as calm as he'd been the entire time. "It'll be there for those with ears to hear. I'll make sure of that."

"I have no idea," Joey said into his hands, trembling and broken, "how we got stuck with you."

"I don't know how we ended up with you guys, but I'm not sure we deserved it," Billy said. "Anybody else would've said…I dunno, ha, wow, you're lunatics."

"Ted did," Derek reminded him, smile widening to a grin.

"Yeah," Billy said, unable to keep from returning it. "He knew what was what."

"Billy, can we get outta here?"

Billy shook his head briefly, _no_ , but he reached over as carefully as he could and set his hand over Joey's against the tie-dye bedspread, squeezing quickly, _I'm here_.

"You got any plans tonight?" Derek asked, unexpectedly bold.

"Not really," Billy said, rubbing Joey's hand some more when Joey swore under his breath. "Though I can't screw around for long, I've got this fucking problem set."

"I could help you with it," Derek offered.

"You know calc?" Billy asked dubiously.

"Not really," Derek said, still grinning, "but I've been known to figure shit out."

"Doogie," Joey muttered under his breath, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

"I left the stuff back in my room," Billy admitted, patting Joey's hand.

"Lead the way," Derek said, hand already on the doorknob.

"You're gonna pay for this," Joey said, but only halfheartedly.

"Your idea," Billy said, rising, to both or either of them.

 

* * *

 

"This is ridiculous," Phil said, frowning into the back of the car. "It's not gonna fit."

"Of course it is," said Mrs. Donoghue, hefting Hank's shoulder bag up in one hand before realizing she was going to need both. "There's more space than you think."

Joey watched from the curb, every so often catching a glance from Billy or an eye-roll from Phil. Ric as hovering a few feet away from Joey with a medium-sized leather suitcase clutched uncomfortably in both hands. Snuffy was bitching Hank out about packing so much shit, and _where_ were they going to put _his_?

"In your lap, if we have to," Billy said, handing Mrs. Donoghue his duffel bag when she reached for it. "Quit your fussing already."

Snuffy looked like he wanted nothing worse than to insult Billy, but he took one look at Phil's mother and decided it wasn't worth the risk. He looked contrite when she reached for his bags next, taking all three at once. For a short, slender woman, she was strong.

"See?" she said, beaming at Phil. "Almost done. Am I missing anything?"

"Sorry," Ric said, stepping off the curb in a hurry. "There's this. Didn't want to get in the way."

"Goodness gracious, Ricardo," Mrs. Donoghue said. "Don't be a stranger."

"Sorry," he mumbled again, but he was smiling at her like there was some matter of embarrassment that might or might not have to do with her young daughter's crush on him. "That's everything, I only have the one."

"Then we're good to go," Mrs. Donoghue said cheerfully.

"Your mom is, like, Molly Sunshine," Hank whispered to Phil as he slid into the middle seat after Snuffy. "My mom's all, 'Pack your own goddamned stuff and buckle up!'"

"Mine's psychotic," Phil muttered, hanging back, letting Ric ahead of him. Ric hesitated, one hand braced on the roof of the vehicle, eyes questioning. "Shoo," Phil said, raising his voice again. "Get in. I'm taking the back with Billy." _And Joey_ , said his eyes.

Joey took that as a sign he had better sneak in, so he did, slipping between the middle seat and the side wall without much difficulty. For Billy and Phil, it was another story. They both cursed under their breaths, and Mrs. Donoghue looked back and told them they were silly, why hadn't Phil collapsed the middle seat and filled the back first?

"No harm, no foul," Billy said, fastening his seatbelt, frowning at the way it adjusted.

"Ooh, Billy's riding _bitch_ ," Hank said under his breath.

Snuffy tried to stifle his laughter and failed, snorting into his hands.

Joey reached forward and smacked him across the back of the head.

"Ow! Dam— _mmht_ ," he managed, abruptly muzzled by Ric's hand.

"Sorry about that," he said to Mrs. Donoghue, who was still looking back at them.

She just smiled innocuously and turned around, then put her foot to the gas pedal, and _whoa_ , the woman was a worse driver than Cecilia on a couple screwdrivers.

"You okay?" Billy asked him, taking hold of his hand.

"Yeah," Joey said weakly, squeezing back. "I'm good."

"You guys crack me up," Phil said, which got a response from the middle seat, but Joey knew that Phil had meant it only for them, and Billy didn't stop grinning for an hour.

Coming to a place you'd always heard about was strange, and this was no different. Phil had talked about home in Providence for as long as Joey had known him; it was incredible that somebody's family, as much as it drove him up the wall, could occupy such a large space in his conscious thought. Phil had gotten better over time about letting go, but what Joey remembered from sophomore year at Regis was that Phil called home at least twice a week. These days, he called maybe twice a month.

The house was huge, but Joey had expected that. He'd seen both of Billy's houses—terrible to be so dislocated, so split, Joey had always thought—and he'd heard plenty from Snuffy about _his_ house, but Hank was pretty quiet on the subject of size.

"We have two guest rooms," Mrs. Donoghue explained, leading them up the thickly-carpeted stairs. She'd made them all take their shoes off at the door, but aside from that, she didn't make any comments about slush or damp cuffs, and Joey could see why. There was a series of crayon-streaks on the wall near the top of the staircase that formed a rainbow. "Erica," she continued, hardly skipping a beat, "has decided she's an artist."

"Are they on retreat yet?" Phil asked, glancing over his shoulder at Ric as they all filed into the hallway, hands trailing along the smooth mahogany railing.

"No, they'll be around for a few days," Mrs. Donoghue said, the smile in her voice identical to the one on Phil's face. "She's been looking forward to seeing you, Ricardo."

"Hide me," Ric muttered under his breath to Billy.

"No can do," Billy said, hefting his duffel bag over to his other hand.

"Kids these days," Joey said, grinning at him.

In the end, they managed to squabble out who was staying where: Ric would crash on the pull-out part of Phil's day bed, Snuffy and Hank would share the guest room with the queen-size, and Billy would have the room with the twin-size to himself.

"I hope you won't get lonely," Mrs. Donoghue said, completely innocent and well-meaning, which was what made it so fucking funny.

"I'll manage," Billy said, absolutely stoic while Phil tried his best not to crack up.

As soon as they'd all filed back downstairs and crashed at the kitchen table while Phil's mother started pulling the makings for sandwiches out of the fridge, there was a scuffle from the entryway that involved the doorbell being hit several times before the door swung open and admitted near-identical shrieks and frantic footfalls on the tile.

"Mom! Mom, Erica's got a boyfriend!"

"Mom! I do _not_!"

"I'm home," Mr. Donoghue called wearily, all but lost under the racket.

Joey watched two blond-haired, blue-eyed kids, one boy and one girl, raced into the kitchen and slammed into Mrs. Donoghue like magnets, one clinging to each elbow.

"What's that?"

"Can I have some?"

"Jeremy took my banana."

"You're _stupid_ , that's why!"

"Erica, that's no way to talk to your brother," said Mrs. Donoghue, shaking them off with practiced ease. "This is for Phil and his friends. They've had a very long day."

"Hi!" she chirped, jumping up and down, waving, undaunted.

"This," Billy said, leaning heavily into his hand, "is gonna be an interesting week."

"No arguments there," Joey said.

 

* * *

 

The first few days consisted of eating, sleeping in, and playing video games, which was fine by Billy. Phil's younger siblings ran everybody around at a mile per minute, and if you weren't clever about hiding from them, they'd hunt you down and question you until you were too hoarse to answer. Erica stuck to Ric like a burr, trailing pigtails behind her.

Mr. Donoghue was the surprise of the lot, and Billy found that he liked the man a lot. He wasn't quite what he would have expected of a Federal judge, almost too…lighthearted. Phil's father was a tall, angular, soft-spoken man of about forty, balding and bespectacled.

"I don't look anything like him," Phil reassured the group on Monday morning when his father left the house with the twins in tow, prepared to drop them off at the retreat on his way to the train station. "Thanks for asking," he said, giving Snuffy a deadpan look.

"He _does_ look more like his mom," Ric said. "I said that the first time I was here."

"Everybody says that, probably," Hank said. "Snuffy's just going blind."

"Shut up," Snuffy muttered, sullenly stirring his cereal.

With the kids gone, the atmosphere was much more relaxed. The Nintendo tournaments continued without ceasing—the finals usually came down to Billy and Ric duking it out, Phil and Joey acting as cheerleading squad—but their forays branched out into the family's extensive movie collection. Somehow, Snuffy managed to find home videos in the endless sea of tapes. He dashed across the living room with them, smirking, almost crashing into a potted palm in the far corner. Phil stopped short, panting.

"You're going to break something," he gasped. "Give me those."

"Only if you promise we can watch 'em," Snuffy said, grinning evilly.

"You're such a prick," Joey said over his shoulder, tossing the controller on the floor. He'd just lost to Billy, and Ric was sitting nearby watching the controller warily, ready to snatch it up if Phil's mom happened to wander in and tell them politely to keep it down.

"I still love you," Billy whispered, leaning over to kiss his shoulder.

"Freak," Joey said, yanking the controller out of _his_ hand.

"Somebody's a sore loser," Phil said, returning with the tapes in hand. "Okay, who's ready for torture?"

"Torture?" Hank said, looking up from the sports magazine he'd fished out of the rack on the far side of the recliner. "Home movies are funny shit. Bring it on."

It was one in the morning before they finished watching all four tapes, and Snuffy had been the first to fall asleep, head lolling onto the arm of Hank's chair. Ric was on the couch beside Phil, struggling to keep his eyes open, but interested, and Billy decided that the floor was the best place to be. Joey could sprawl out all he wanted, and casual, unobtrusive contact was easier. Joey lay with his head in Billy's lap, dozing.

"I hate this one," Phil said, wide awake, covering his eyes.

On the screen was a toddler version of Phil, running around on green grass in a cloth diaper. There was a sprinkler running, and Phil had a bucket in his hand. He was trying to catch the water, but it kept arcing out of his path, and he shrieked with frustration every time.

"That," Ric said, pointing at the television, "is embarrassing."

Billy could hear the smirk in his voice, and Joey had reached up to grab his hand, laughing quietly. Billy wondered if Ric could hear him. It was still hit and miss.

"I hate you all," Phil said under his breath, but Billy caught his secret amusement.

 

* * *

 

On Thursday morning, Joey found himself awake before Billy, blinking at the unfamiliar ceiling. No matter how many nights now they'd been in that bed, the overhead was too…white, too smooth. He caught himself missing his room at home, the peaks and valleys, pools and seas. It was hard to imagine creature-shapes darting across nothing.

"What're you doing up?" Billy asked, voice blurred with sleep.

"Contemplating the boringness that is a white paint-job," Joey said, and rolled over, burying his nose in the hollow of Billy's throat. If Billy wasn't getting up, neither was he.

That afternoon, Mrs. Donoghue suggested that Phil drive all of them downtown. She said it had been a while since she'd kept up with the scene at Brown, but that it couldn't be any better or worse than when she was there. She would have asked her husband, but he was already gone, whisked off on the long commute.

"Wonder if they met there," Joey said, eyeing Billy's coffee enviously.

"Did you meet your husband at Brown?" Billy asked, earning himself a grateful smile.

"No," Mrs. Donoghue said, "but I _did_ meet him on a college campus. I was on the debate team, and one weekend, we had a meet at Princeton."

"Oh, that explains that," Snuffy said, glancing at Phil.

"Partly," Phil said defensively. "It's actually a cool place. I _do_ want to go."

"That's right," his mother said thoughtfully, looking at each one of them by turns. "You should be getting your letters soon, shouldn't you? Where did you apply?"

The conversation that followed was a blur of information that Joey already knew, but he noticed that Billy's responses were more hesitant than usual, neither assertive, nor rehearsed. Later, when they ended up wandering around town with no plans in sight, Joey pulled Billy aside under some awning and kissed him, refusing to let him go.

"Something bugging you?" he asked, searching Billy's eyes for a hint, something, anything.

"Nah," Billy said, taking hold of Joey's hands at his shoulders before shaking them briefly, then dropping them. "It's just—things are moving too fast."

"Yeah," Joey said, nodding a the ground, cracking some ice with his shoe. "I know."

"I don't wanna think about what'll be in the mailboxes when we get back."

"Then don't," Joey said, and kissed him again.

When it became apparent that the outing wasn't going to produce anything more useful than two six-packs of beer (Billy had managed to buy them without being carded, which was sort of appropriate, considering his birthday was in three days, and that was the cause for celebration), they all trooped back to the parking garage, teeth chattering.

Mrs. Donoghue was ready with dinner and a scolding—no hats on _any_ of them, and in _that_ weather—and the announcement that she and her husband were going out to dinner, so they didn't have to worry about leaving anything. Last night alone before the munchkins return, she said, and the last night before they'd be going back.

"Happy Birthday," she said to Billy, setting the first plate of chicken stir-fry in front of him. Joey stared at it, wishing she'd go away already. He wanted to steal some.

"We should sing," Snuffy said, satisfied that the second plate had fallen to him.

"And listen to _your_ howling?" Hank said, nodding thanks to Phil's mom. "I don't think so."

Snuffy burst into song regardless, so that meant that the rest of them had no choice but to follow. By the time everything had wound down, Joey was cringing, because they were mostly off-key, and he'd been trying very hard to keep things _on_ key, except Hank couldn't hear him, and Ric was off somewhere in his own world.

"Who's got the lovely tenor?" Mrs. Donoghue asked.

When Snuffy tried to claim it, Phil said he was sorry, she must have been hearing things.

Joey covered his mouth with both hands, shrugging at Billy's questioning look.

"Weirdest thing ever," Hank said later, pointing across the more-or-less circle that they'd formed on the floor, sprawled out with bottles of Samuel Adams. "I think I heard it."

"Huh?" Phil said blankly, already on his second bottle.

"You know damned well," Hank said seriously, "what I mean."

"Oh," Phil said, snapping out of it. "Duh."

"Gee, thanks," Joey said, huddling closer to Billy, which was about the point when Hank's eyes moved over about a foot and landed on him, wide behind his glasses.

"Um," Hank said, grip tightening on his bottle. "There's…"

"Yep," Joey said, grabbing Billy's bottle out of his hand and taking a long swig. Fuck it.

"Dude, whoa," Phil said, leaning forward. "You can _drink_?"

"It's a free country," Billy said, swiping the bottle back. He was on his second, too.

"Nonono," Phil said, waving his hands excitedly. "I mean—"

"Yeah," Joey said. "I've been stealing shit off Billy's plate for months, where have you been?"

"That," Snuffy said, tossing his empty bottle at the pile forming in the middle of the circle, "is fucked up. I mean, where…uh, where does it _go_?"

Joey couldn't believe this. Everybody was getting drunk, or at least tipsy, and Hank had decided that maybe seeing him was okay after all, and Snuffy was asking deep questions.

"I'll get back to you on that," Joey said, "as soon as I've figured it out."

"You mean it just, like, vanishes?" Ric said, waving a broad arc with his free hand.

"As far as we can tell, yes," Billy said, sounding like he was as tired of the questions as Joey. "Of all the shit you could ask him, you're stuck on where beer goes?"

Snuffy reached for another bottle, smirking across at Billy.

"Not just—"

Hank caught him in a head-lock before he could say anything else, and he shrieked, dropping the bottle he'd just picked up. Hank said he wasn't letting go until Snuffy stopped being a goddamned asshole, and, gasping, Snuffy agreed.

"Not the best semester for your neck, is it?" Billy asked, raising his bottle as if in a toast, then chugging the rest of it. Joey grabbed the bottle away from him, draining the last.

"No more," he said sternly, rolling it away from them. "I want you sober, dammit."

"You have no idea how weird that sounds," Ric said, then started to giggle.

"Oh, Lord," Joey said, resting his forehead against his knees. "Somebody sh—no. Just, no. Never mind. Fuck, ask me another dumb question. Quick."

"How many miles to Babylon?" Phil asked.

Joey just stared at him.

"What?"

"You mean you never heard that?" Billy asked, turning slightly. His breath smelled like beer, which was something Joey hadn't encountered in a long time, and it reminded him uncomfortably of the vodka incident back in the fall. "How many miles to Babylon?"

"It's three-score miles and ten," Ric said, tapping his finger against his bottle. "Can I get there by a candle's light?"

"Aye, and back again," Billy finished. "See?"

"No," Joey said, mystified. "Is this a drinking song?"

Everybody burst out laughing, and by the end of it, he was curled in the crook of Billy's arm, face buried against Billy's shoulder, trembling with the enormity of it.

For the first time in months, he was with them. With _all_ of them.

Billy tightened his hold on Joey, whispering as the laughter died down, "It's okay, it's okay."

"I wish it was," Phil said, wiping his eyes, "but, no. It's a nursery rhyme."

"Wrong, Einstein," Snuffy said, finally putting in his two cents. "It's a folk-song."

"Same difference," Ric said, draining his bottle. "Somebody gimme another?"

"No," said Phil and Snuffy in unison.

"You're gonna get smashed," Hank said, tossing his bottle at the pile, and his aim was better than anybody's, because there wasn't just a clink, but broken glass.

"Oh, shit," Phil muttered, eyes going wide.

"I'll get it," Hank said, and got up quickly, dashing to the kitchen.

It wasn't really that much of a catastrophe, though after that, everybody was quieter, and conversation turned to something that reminded Joey very, very strongly of last year.

"It is kind of strange," Hank mused, who'd been getting more and more serious by the minute, "isn't it?" His eyes on Joey were heavy, sleepy, less focused than before.

"What is?" Billy asked, his hand warm and reassuring on Joey's hip.

"That we're here, talking like this," Snuffy said, staring past his current bottle at the carpet. "And nobody's brought up God or anything like that, and you'd think it was obvious."

"Don't look at me," Joey said, putting both hands up. "I don't know anything."

"Would've thought they told you something," Ric said, regarding Joey almost sadly. On beer, Ric was an interesting, melancholy sort of mellow. Joey decided it suited him.

"What I remember," Joey said, choosing his words carefully, "is seeing Mom, and then I was…back. That's it. No lights, no fireworks, no nothing." He shrugged, swiping the third bottle he'd let Billy take against his better judgment. "Death's boring," he said, and polished off half of it in one swig. He closed his eyes and concentrated on how it felt, but by now, there was nothing out of the ordinary: this was how things were. They vanished.

"That's so fucking creepy," Phil said, dazed.

"Oh, shut up," Billy said, taking the bottle off of Joey and emptying it before tossing it at Phil. It hit him in the kneecap, which had to hurt. Phil just winced a bit, rubbing it.

"This discussion has gotten circular," Ric said, slurring ever so slightly.

"Should clean this shit up and get to bed," Snuffy said, eyeing the pile of bottles with concern. "We're going in the morning?"

"Yeah," Phil said, but his eyes were fixed pensively on Joey.

"You okay, man?" Joey asked, waving a hand in front of his face.

"Yeah, just…thinking."

"Dangerous pastime," Billy said, stretching. "I'm beat."

"This doesn't feel right," Phil sighed.

"What d'you mean?" Ric asked.

"We've got all of us here—which shouldn't technically be possible—and we're fucking drunk."

"I'm not drunk," Billy said irritably, then glanced furtively at Joey. "Am I?"

"Not nearly," Joey said, clutching his shoulder more tightly, leaning in to kiss him on the mouth. He tasted like beer, too, which still wasn't Joey's favorite, but he was…getting used to it. Liking it. Maybe. Jesus, what the fuck did dying _do_ to a guy?

"Some things," Snuffy said, "never change."

"A-fucking-men," Hank said, standing up. "G'night, ladies. I'm gone."

Why stop when Billy was content to kiss him, and he could put his free hand to good use?

 

* * *

 

Regis, Billy thought, had never been quieter.

They were back early enough that the halls were mostly empty, although a small, inevitable handful of hardcore book-thumpers had stayed behind to brush up for late midterms. The trouble with midterms at Regis was that they started somewhere around six weeks after the semester started and went up until six weeks before it ended.

"I wonder who's around," Joey said, glancing up to the end of the hall while Billy pushed open the door to his room. "You could hear a grain of sand drop."

"Probably," Billy said, dumping his duffel bag and backpack in front of his closet with a sigh. "I'm beat. You wanna go back to bed?"

"Yeah," Joey said, stepping up close, faint breath warm on Billy's face. "Good idea."

Out of courtesy (and sheer logic, if Billy pressed himself to admit it), they hadn't done anything in the guest room at Phil's, though Joey had proved a few more times just how endlessly inventive he could be when it came to showers. A week's worth of restraint broke over them like the storm they'd left behind, an eerie reminder that it hadn't ended.

"I want to remember," Joey said, reaching up to trace Billy's face from temple to chin, "the look on Hank's face when he saw me. So fucking calm."

"What did I look like?" Billy asked, dipping to kiss Joey's forehead, feeling reckless.

"You were a mess," Joey said softly, honestly, "and I wondered if you'd taken something."

Billy kissed him again, stifling a choked laugh, then looked him in the eyes.

"I couldn't find the painkillers."

"Jesus, I hate you," Joey whispered, wrapping his arms around Billy so hard that he couldn't breathe. "Do you have any _idea_ what I would've done to you if you'd shown up like this, too? I would've kicked your non-corporeal ass, that's what!"

"At this point," Billy wheezed, "I don't doubt it."

From there, it was slow and deliberate, a sweetness closer to sadness. Joey's hands wandered him as if he'd suddenly grown indistinct, joints and limbs all flowing into one, or maybe it was that he was foreign territory now, a thing that bled, not like him.

Joey whispered fiercely in his ear that would never, _ever_ be true.

Billy hadn't known he'd said it aloud. He hadn't even known.

And if not breathing meant kissing until the world hung on a single thread and spun around them, so be it. Joey forced him back in the end, lips reddened and eyes hazy, one staggering gasp for each one that Billy took, their chests heaving in time.

"Don't do this," Joey whispered when Billy turned, drawing Joey's arm along his waist, but it was already too late, too late. "Billy, I won't—"

"You will," Billy whispered, and kissed Joey's white knuckles one by one.

The pain was familiar, even dreadful, but there was something to be said for this with nothing getting in the way, nothing in between. Joey's gasp turned on a low cry— _that lovely tenor_ —and found its pitch somewhere beneath Billy's groan, quavering.

"Billy…Billy, I _can't_ …"

"Liar," he gasped, then moaned Joey's name into the pillow. "I've got—"

The next sound that passed Joey's lips would've been heard by the entire room, given a gallery of listeners. Billy closed his eyes, felt Joey's hand still on him, and yes, please, _yes_.

Between the shock of separation and the half-haze of sleep, there was Joey's kiss against his cheek, then drifting, somehow comforting lightness as Joey said, _Sleep_.

 

* * *

 

Slipping out of bed in that moment was the hardest thing that Joey had ever done.

He had wanted to do this upon getting back, to stalk the halls, silent, until the found the mailboxes in their lonely corridor outside the students' lounge and tick through the combinations one at a time, collecting whatever was there. Mail was still coming for him, like nobody had let the spammers know that he had gone.

It was like something out of a dream, or maybe out of a nightmare: there was one letter in each box, each a heavy, doubled-over white eight-by-eleven bearing Harvard's seal.

Joey tucked them under his arm and raced back up the corridor, chance against time.

For propriety's sake, or maybe out of superstition—which he'd come by honestly, he had to admit—Joey slid the packets under the door one by one, then stepped soundlessly through. Billy was still sound asleep, curled on his side as Joey had left him.

Joey's heart was full to bursting, if that was even what it was. They'd had this, done this, and for once, nothing had broken. There was no warning, no vengeance. He remained.

After setting the envelopes on Billy's desk, Joey went searching for Snuffy's _Complete Works_. It peeked out from under the bed, as if it had somehow gotten kicked there in the shuffle of packing the week before. Joey retrieved it, smoothing out some bent corners. He thought of his notebook tucked away safely in Billy's drawer.

"Hey," Billy said, blinking up groggily. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Joey said, crouching down beside the bed, setting the book down again. "Went for a walk. There's nobody here, man. It's heaven."

"I'm sure," Billy said, rubbing his eyes, then yawned hugely.

Joey chewed his lip, realizing he had better get this over with. He reached over to the desk and retrieved the packets, making sure he knew which was which, and dropped Billy's square on top of his head. Billy winced and squirmed, waving it off.

"What—"

"Mail call," Joey said, sitting down with his own in his hands.

Billy fished around above his head until he'd retrieved the packet, and once he had a firm hold on it, he sat up and squinted at it, scratching his cheek. As sleep drained from his expression, something like cold terror set in, the way you'd react to a nightmare.

"Joey," Billy said carefully, "what…"

His eyes fell on the matching packet in Joey's lap, the information refusing to process.

"Don't be a chicken," Joey said, and ripped into his own. If he didn't do it, _he'd_ lose his nerve. He already knew what this meant, even if Billy didn't.

Colleges didn't send huge fucking packets to rejects.

One glance over the letter was all that Joey needed. He'd known this, somehow; he'd seen it. After a certain point, the world just worked a certain way, and you moved on.

Billy sat blinking at his letter, lip caught between his teeth, already beginning to shake.

"Joey…I'm…"

"Going to college," Joey said, sliding his letter inside the folder that was underneath it, setting it carefully aside. He grinned up at Billy, refusing to break down. Not now.

"Fuck," Billy whispered, shoving the papers and folder aside, stumbling off the bed.

Joey stood up, panic rising in his throat. This wasn't supposed to happen.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"I need," Billy gasped through helpless, relentless tears, "to get some air, okay?"

"Yeah," Joey said, nodding numbly. "Yeah, sure."

Only once the door closed did Joey realize the reality of it, and how foolishly he'd been pretending. How _could_ it be happy? How could he expect Billy to accept it, like that, that they'd both gotten into fucking _Harvard_ and Joey _wouldn't really be going_?

"That's what you think," Joey hissed, and ran blindly for the door.

Billy was nowhere to be found. He wasn't in the student lounge, and he wasn't in the cafeteria, either. Joey went by the room that Ric and Phil shared, but Billy wasn't with them; he could tell by the voices through the door. Snuffy and Hank, Joey didn't bother with. Billy wouldn't go to them, and Joey was running out of places to look.

A thought took him to the bell tower, the memory of a cold night watching the stars, but he found himself standing alone, staring out over the white expanse of the quad.

"No," Joey whispered, glancing around, starting to shiver. "Don't do this."

At the first sight of bullet damage, he fled.

Billy wouldn't leave campus, of that much Joey was certain. It was far too cold to make the walk into town, and Billy, even in this state, had too much sense to subject himself to that kind of discomfort. Joey hoped not, anyway. Billy had proved himself capable of some truly shocking things, but that was under different circumstances.

 _I'm not lost_ , Joey thought, running down the walkway towards the gate, stopping short just before the threshold. _I'm still here; why did you leave me?_

"He's in the chapel, son," said a tired voice.

Joey turned around, shivering uncontrollably.

"Saw him head that way," Frank said, nodding across the quad.

"Thanks," Joey said, breathless. "Um, what…are you doing here?"

Frank smiled, something of his old, indomitable self again.

"Somebody's got to keep an eye on this spring chicken, right?" he asked, jerking his thumb at the guard booth. "As long as I don't interfere in his duties, it's a decent arrangement."

"I'm sure," Joey said, turning, his feet already carrying him. "Thanks!" he called over his shoulder, veering off into the snow, shocked at the crunch of it under his soles. He tripped once, recovered his feet, and kept running, not bothering to brush himself off.

The chapel door, Joey knew, was always open. He'd gone there alone on a few occasions, after dark, to sit and clear his mind, sometimes sketch. It wasn't the most gorgeous chapel in the world, but there was stained glass and stone-carving and the sense of a century gone by, the sense that, if nothing else, this place would remain unchanged.

He slipped inside silently, and spotted Billy right away.

Joey couldn't bring himself to cry out, because the tableau was one that he wanted to remember, to file away for sketching on some future date. Billy stood alone before the altar, his back on the pews, hands in his pockets. He was looking up at the circular window, which was no rose by far, and the sound of his sobbing echoed in the quiet.

If there was a price to pay, then Joey was willing to pay it.

His footsteps echoed off the walls and ceiling as he made his way up the center aisle, and whatever the reason, Billy didn't turn to see who it was. Joey held his breath until he reached the front row, realizing that if nothing had happened by now, it probably _wouldn't_. There was a bizarre sort of disappointment in realizing his aloneness before the eyes of God. Wasn't that what those windows were for?

"What are you doing here?" Billy asked, his voice rough.

"You're such an idiot," Joey said, stepping up behind him. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Trying," Billy said, clearing his throat, "to deal with this."

Joey tensed, every fiber of his being awash in sudden anger.

"I smiled," he gritted out, grabbing Billy's shoulder, "for _you_."

The sound of the door slamming shut made them both spin around, breathing fast. It was highly unlikely that it had been anything except the wind, as it had been abnormally strong for the past week, except Joey saw the woman when he blinked a second time. She was dressed in a black pea-coat and slacks to match, and her boots made a distinct clicking sound on the stones. Joey turned to glance at Billy, get his input, and froze.

"Who's there?" Billy whispered, meeting Joey's eyes, then looked around wildly.

"Her," Joey said, pointing, but when Billy followed his finger, his eyes remained blank with confusion.

"Joey, what—"

"He won't see me," said the woman, her voice echoing just as theirs did. There was nothing remarkable about it—about any of her, really. Now that she was closer, Joey could see that her face was pale and pink from the cold, and that her eyes had an indistinctness of color that wasn't unlike Billy's—here green, there blue, there anything.

"Why?" Joey asked, taking a step toward her. If she meant Billy harm, she had a thing or two coming. Women outside the faculty were a rare occurrence, and unless she was somebody's mother, it was highly unlikely that she had permission to be there.

"Your thoughts," she said, thin lips quirking into a smile, "are ridiculous."

"Joey," Billy repeated, reaching out to him, one hand falling on Joey's shoulder. " _Who_ —"

"Who the hell are you?" Joey asked, boldness replacing his anger. "Do you have permission to be here?"

"If I needed permission," said the woman patiently, her curious earrings swaying as she came to a stop not a foot away from Joey, "we wouldn't be having this conversation."

It was then that Joey noticed that her face bore no signs of aging, and that her hands, still at her sides, were perfect, snow-shaded white. She glanced briefly up at the window, eyes catching blue and red and gold, irises holding the colors in perfect rings.

"Oh, shit," Joey whispered, backing away, reaching for Billy's hand.

"I'm here," Billy whispered, taking hold of Joey's tightly. "Listen, if you're fucking with our heads," he shouted into the sanctuary, "it's not gonna work. Nice try."

The woman just looked at Joey with her clear, unnerving eyes full of calm.

"I have come to ask you," she said carefully, "what your intentions are."

" _My_ intentions?" Joey echoed, panic subsiding into confusion. "I don't—"

"I don't _expect_ you to understand," she said, almost exasperated. "Your kind never do," she said, pursing her lips again. She let her chin drop briefly, running her fingers through her short, chaotic pale blonde hair. "I have the most thankless job in Creation, do you know that?"

"Joey, what the _hell_ is happening?" Billy whispered, clutching at Joey's shoulder with his other hand, now, terrified. "Who are you—"

"Uriel," said the woman, holding her hand out to Joey. "Pleasure to meet you."

Joey didn't take it, but he nodded, something exploding in the depths of his memory.

"They're not even sure if you exist," he said defensively, clutching Billy's hand tighter.

"If they're looking for the Light of God," she said, "then believe me, I don't."

"What are you doing here, then," Joey asked, refusing to back down, "if you don't exist?"

"I don't exist in the capacity that you've been told I'm meant to fulfill," Uriel said, folding her arms across her chest, expression fading from stern to weary. "Now, if you'd answer me, this will be a lot less drawn out and, hopefully, less painful for both parties."

Joey frowned, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on.

"Both parties?"

"Shit," Billy whispered, clutching him in tighter. " _Shit_."

"Your mother wants you back," Uriel said, spreading her arms wide, then letting them drop again. "Do you think I _wanted_ to tell you?"

"Probably not," Joey said without thinking. "Mom angry is something you don't want to see."

"I wish I'd talked to you before approaching her, then," Uriel said, her small, bitter smile returning. "It would've saved _me_ a headache."

Billy's breath was fast in Joey's ear now: _in-out, in-out, in-out_.

"If you can read my mind," Joey said, calmly rubbing the back of Billy's gloved hand with his thumb, "then why don't you just find out for yourself?"

Uriel made an exasperated face and shoved her hands in her pockets, stomping twice.

"Because it's required," she said, teeth chattering, "that you say it out loud."

That was… _it_?

"Let me get this straight," Joey said, taking a step forward away from Billy, which resulted in Billy inching along with him. "All I have to do is say what I want?"

"You are permitted to stay here, if you so choose," Uriel said, eyes flickering briefly at Billy, "for the purpose of waiting on one other person. Don't make me run the particulars. It usually makes people dissolve in a mess of tears, and I dread that."

"I'm not letting go of you," Billy whispered. "If they fucking _drag_ you away, I'm _not_ —"

"Tell Mom," Joey said slowly, staring at the floor, "that she'll have to wait a bit longer."

Uriel was smiling when he looked up again—a tired, relieved, _human_ sort of smile.

"There, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Not for me," Joey said, cringing, "but I don't envy you having to tell her."

"I've endured far worse, you foolish, foolish boy," Uriel said gently. "Is this your wish?"

"Mine," Billy said, raising his voice. "He's _mine_ , do you hear me?"

"Yes, and you're a fool as well," Uriel said, rolling her eyes. "Look out for him, Joseph. Without you, he'd have a world of trouble ahead."

"Don't I know," Joey muttered, slipping his arms up over Billy's, clutching them tight.

"Your mother would like you to know," she said, "that she'd wait forever if she had to."

"Forever's what we'll have," Joey said, his chest feeling tight, and it wasn't just because of Billy's hold on him. "But not today, all right?"

"As I understand it," Uriel said, nodding regally, almost a bow, "yes."

"Joey," Billy whispered, his tears trickling down Joey's collar, "when are we going…"

Joey turned and touched his cheek, brushing the wetness away.

"We're not," he said, kissing Billy's forehead. "Open your eyes, asshole."

The chapel was empty, and around them, there was nothing but pale, fragile winter light.

Billy blinked at him, then let go, rubbing his eyes as if he'd spent the better part of the encounter disoriented, throwing off whatever enchantment had been there, if any at all.

"Can you tell me," he asked hesitantly, "what happened?"

"Yeah," Joey said. "I told an Archangel to fuck off."

"Oh," Billy said, furiously wiping his eyes. "Wow."

"And she told me to keep an eye on you, or else."

"That's something," Billy said, looking like he wanted to laugh.

"No, that's everything," Joey said, and laughed for him.  



	22. Flashback: Silver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a piece of back-story on, amongst other things, how Joey's parents met and what happened after the first-meeting flashback in _The Art of Persuasion_. A single significant artifact ties these threads together, past and present.

Theresa liked Cambridge. It was the kind of place that forgave you for showing up without any particular plans, because there were so many nooks and winding alleys to poke into that you'd probably end up getting lost or devoured anyway. And she liked Harvard despite the rampant snobbishness; at least it hadn't infected Sandra.

"There's this place," Sandra was saying as they walked, "that I've got to show you."

"Yeah?" Theresa asked, tilting her head to one side. "What kind of place? Restaurant?"

"No, a shop," Sandra replied, swinging her purse at Theresa's arm. "Trinkets and jewelry, cool shit like that. You still wear all the same bangly stuff you did three years ago. I figure, it takes somebody like you to appreciate a place like that."

"We'll see," Theresa said. She was getting hungry, and they'd already passed half a dozen restaurants that made her mouth water. "Is it far?"

"Nope," Sandra reassured her, pointing up the street. "Just there, in the Garage."

The place wasn't, of course, a garage, or if it ever had been, it hadn't been one for at least a little while. There were weird bookshops, a music store, and a tiny food court. Theresa braced her hands on the escalator railing, peering over the side.

"Christ, you're gonna fall off," Sandra said, hastily stubbing out her cigarette and dropping it down one of the cracks in the escalator. "Get back here."

"You're the same drag you were in high school."

"You're the same trouble."

As soon as they got off the escalator, Sandra grabbed Theresa's hand and led her across the hall to a shop that sort of jutted out into the main part of the second floor. That was a stupid observation, though, because you could see just about every store in the space with a single sweep of your eyes. Theresa followed Sandra, lifting her ponytail off the back of her neck with her free hand. Christ, why'd she thought a trip to Massachusetts in July was a good idea?

"In here," Sandra said, stating the obvious, and tugged her into the shop.

It was, quite simply, cramped, and there was so much stuff crammed on the shelves that Theresa wasn't sure she'd be able to look at it all without getting a headache. The stock was weighted heavily on the side of jewelry and random Middle Eastern souvenirs—a lot of Egyptian items, curious. Theresa picked up a brass incense burner and set it down again.

"Got a lot of pot smoke to cover?" Sandra asked, inspecting a red sequined scarf.

"No, Jesus," Theresa said, running her fingers over a trinket box that claimed it came from Cairo. "D'you honestly think we have nothing better to do?"

"Fuckin' hell, you go to _music school_ ," Sandra said, laughing, and gave her a shove. "Either you guys never lighten up, or you're too spaced to care."

"Hey, your Div School friends aren't angels."

"No kidding," Sandra said, draping the scarf across her face, eyes twinkling. "They're religion majors."

"What the hell ever," Theresa said, walking up to the counter. There was some jewelry under it, or rather, a lot of jewelry under it. Cheap beads, bangles, pseudo-talismans. She scanned the mess for earrings and frowned. She didn't like hoops.

"Silver girl," said the guy behind the counter.

"Huh?" Theresa asked, looking up. "Me?"

"Yeah, you," said the guy, smiling behind his mustache. "Silver girl, with your lovely dark hair." He indicated her dangling earrings and her hair in one gesture.

"I guess," Theresa said, staring down again. She was probably blushing.

"Do you know this?" asked the man, reaching under the counter. He set down a plain black jewelry card in front of her. "This is good silver. It means _life_."

"Ankh," said Theresa noncommittally, fingering the earrings. "So?"

"So, silver girl," replied the man, holding the earrings up to her cheekbone, "you look in the mirror over here."

Theresa looked, frowning thoughtfully. Christ, her make-up was bad today. Still, the guy maybe had a point: they weren't just cheap French wires, and the ankhs had this dangly way of tricking your eyes into thinking they were crucifixes. Her mother wouldn't even notice.

"Not bad," Sandra said over her shoulder. "How much?"

"Don't know," Theresa replied, glancing at the man. "How much?"

"Ten," he said, "but for you, I think eight."

"Fuckin' cheap," Sandra said, elbowing her. "Do it."

Theresa bit her lip, then smiled.

*

Christmas vacation blew. New Jersey blew. _Everything_ blew.

"Honey, you don't look so happy," said Theresa's mother, taking down another piece of silver tinsel. The stuff was so old that it was shedding all over the place. "What's wrong?"

"I'm bored," Theresa said, swinging her legs over the arm of the couch.

"Aren't any of your friends around? What about Sandra?"

"Stayed in Mass," Theresa said, flopping onto her back. "Boyfriend."

"Lucy? Maria?"

"I haven't heard from them since sophomore year, Ma."

"Then they don't deserve you, _santina_ ," her mother said, and bent down to kiss her forehead on the way to fetch another dusty box from the attic. "You might try Angela Costello," she called from the stairs. "Your sister said something about New Year's."

"Yeah, fuckin' stupid party," Theresa muttered under her breath. Stupid poser drop-outs with no life and more than enough pot to make Sandra happy. Maybe she should go.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing, Ma," Theresa called, toying with her earrings. "Maybe I'll go."

She wore a dress that was two inches too short and had her sister cut her hair before they left. The ankh earrings weren't dressy enough, but she left them in anyway. It hadn't snowed in a month, and the cold wasn't enough to persuade either of them that they ought to be wearing a coat. They fought over who was going to drive, but Theresa won.

"I'm older," she said, "and I've been in fewer accidents."

"You're so dumb," Christie muttered, folding her arms across her chest, teeth chattering. "Drive the damn car already."

Either the Costellos were out of town or at a party of their own, or didn't care what Angela and her brother got up to as long as it was all cleaned up by the time they got back. Then again, it wasn't like the Costellos had anything to worry about. With that kind of money, you could buy a whole new house if you had to.

Theresa sipped her beer and waved a hand in front of her face. She didn't mind the pot so much, but the cigarettes were awful. She'd never been able to talk Sandra out of them.

"Hey, looks like you're having a _blast_ ," Christie said out of nowhere, leaning over the back of the couch with a joint hanging from her fingertips. She had one of the Costello brothers by the hand, and her breath smelled like something stronger than beer.

"Better time than you," Theresa said, throwing one of the couch pillows in her face. "Get lost."

Christie shrieked, then giggled, and tossed the pillow back. Big, dark, and stupid had a laugh at Theresa's expense as they sauntered away, but it wasn't enough for Theresa to get really irritated. They were fucking stupid kids, and there was no cure for that.

"Mind if I sit down? I think you've found the only unoccupied couch in the entire house."

Theresa blinked and looked up. Somebody speaking in complete sentences at this time of the night was pretty rare, and the smoke had cleared enough for her to see that there was a young man standing beside her and studying her intently. He had a careful smile.

"Um, sure," she said, shifting over hastily enough that her skirt rode up nearly to her hips. Embarrassed, she muttered an apology and tugged it back down. The guy sat down beside her, offering his hand so that it was within her downcast line of sight.

"It's all right," he said. "Forgive me. My name's Albert Trotta, and I'm not having much fun here, either."

 _Trotta_. Theresa felt her chest clench in fear, but she lifted her head, meeting his gaze indifferently—maybe even defiantly. Trying to keep her voice steady, she said, "Theresa. You probably know my sister."

"Yes," Albert said, smiling faintly. Everything about him was careful—his words, his eyes, his clothes. Theresa studied his shirt with envy: it must've cost two-hundred dollars. "A couple of my friends," he continued, "are pretty fond of Christina, but that doesn't say very much, now, does it?"

Theresa stared at him. Is this how Mafia dons taught their sons to hit on chicks?

"No, it definitely doesn't," she agreed, grinning in spite of herself. 

"There, I knew you could smile," Albert said, leaning back against the couch. He was still for a moment, tilting his head as if to get a better angle on her face.

"What?" Theresa asked after a few seconds, unnerved.

"I mean no offense by this, but girls like you don't usually look good in silver."

Theresa ran her fingers through her hair, tucking it behind her ear. What the hell, she'd let him see that she wore pagan shit at the expense of good Catholic iconography. Maybe he'd go away, or take her less seriously, and then she wouldn't have to deal with the fact that she _liked_ him.

Instead of saying something else, Albert just sucked in his breath, and his eyes widened.

"You know, buddy," Theresa said, throwing caution to the wind, "you're subtle."

Albert laughed, which she hadn't expected at all, then replied, "Well, so is silver."

"So you're saying _I'm_ subtle, too?"

"Not in so many words."

"Oh, you've got plenty of those," Theresa said, leaning forward more slowly than was necessary, grabbing her beer bottle off the coffee table. "That's why I haven't told you to get lost, you know?"

"I'm glad you haven't," Albert said, painfully earnest.

"Good," Theresa said, finishing off the beer, and scooted just a bit closer. She ran both hands through her hair this time—and stopped when she felt her right ear. "Fuck! Oh. I mean…"

"Is something wrong?" Albert asked, alarmed.

"Yeah, fuck," Theresa said, relaxing. The hell with it, if he could deal with a dame in a short dress, he could also deal with one that swore. "Lost an earring."

* * *

Without a second thought, or even a glance over his shoulder, Joey slipped into his parents' room and pulled the door shut behind him. Everything seemed darker than usual. Ever since the funeral, his father had kept the curtains drawn. It was stupid, really. A little late to be paying his goddamned respects for a thing that had been _his_ fault.

Joey glanced at the closet, which his father had left partway open that morning. After being dropped off at school by his father's driver, Joey had slipped off around the junior high and taken the back way home. If his father wasn't going to take care of his mother's stuff, then he was going to go in and claim what he wanted. Winner takes all, though he didn't feel particularly like he'd won anything. His father had done as good as take his own wife's life by choosing to do what he did. 

Half of the closet-space was occupied by his mother's dresses. Joey wasn't sure what he'd do with one of them, other than cut it up and use the fabric in an art project, but his father probably _would_ have a fit if he did. Carefully, Joey closed the closet doors.

The dresser, however, was another story. Everything on it belonged to his mother, and everything there was interesting. The picture frames, not so much, as Joey rarely liked the way he looked in photographs, and seeing her so young and happy—so young and happy _with his father_ —made Joey's throat clench and his eyes sting. He lay them all down flat, careful not to crack the glass. Joey glanced briefly in the mirror, then down again. He couldn't look at himself, either. What everybody said about the spitting-image thing was true. He'd always just been glad he didn't look like his father.

Perfume, a chain-link silver belt, some dried-up rose heads. Joey picked up one of the flowers and pressed a petal between his fingers. It fell away with ease, tumbling to land on some loose change. Forty-seven cents. He collected it up and put it in his pocket.

Joey stared at the rest of the objects, feeling sort of helpless. He had no use for the perfume, because the alcohol in it made his head hurt, and the scent was too girly. The belt would fit him, but he tended not to get pants that needed belts, he _hated_ belts. Joey set the roses to one side; those, at least, he could put somewhere in his room, or burn them, or something. He didn't know what. The other stuff was useless, too: his mother's taste in magazines had always puzzled him, and there a couple of bottles of pills that he didn't really want to get a close look at. That left the jewelry box. 

He remembered that, in church, when he was little, he used to sit in his mother's lap and play with her necklace. She had this one that had a ribbon-shaped slider-thing, and it worked like a guy's bolero. He used to tug on the ends of the chain and make them uneven, then try to get them even again. If he did it for too long, she fished in her purse and found him some candy. Lifesavers. Joey brushed aside some receipts and found them on the dresser, wintergreen, his favorite. The roll was half-eaten. He pocketed those, too.

The jewelry box didn't lock, which was kind of a relief. Joey sucked at picking locks. It was plain wood, carved with an uninteresting flower pattern. It looked old, so she'd probably had it since she was in college. The hinges creaked when he opened it, and the red velvet interior had worn patches and rips. Her necklaces were a jumble of silver, all silver, with only a few threads of gold. He picked up the mass of chains and tried to untangle them, but it was a lost cause. The ribbon necklace was there; he wanted it.

Joey tucked the box under his arm and left the room, closing the door behind him.

In his own room, he could think. He could sort through everything on his bedspread and get an idea of what was there. He sat down on the mattress, then opened the jewelry box and dumped it. He set the mass of necklaces to one side (he heard once that you should use a needle or a pin for untangling), then started picking out rings. More gold there, finally some gemstones. Ruby, emerald, pearl. Diamonds, so many diamonds, but not her really good ones. She'd been buried in those, and her wedding and engagement rings.

Joey bit the inside of his cheek and picked out one of the emeralds.

The earrings, now, those were interesting. Apparently, she'd worn a lot of crazy stuff in college. Aunt Christie had told him that; it was like this sore spot that she'd always brought up whenever she visited with her daughter Katie, who was a few years older than Joey. They didn't visit very often, and Joey didn't blame them. He'd see even less of them now. He picked up a pair of peacock feather earrings and set them aside with the ring. There were a lot of beaded ones, and he'd be able to take those apart if nothing else.

Stuck in one of the beaded ones, Joey found a tiny, tarnished silver thing that didn't seem to have a match anywhere. He fished through all the earrings again, and even the necklaces, but the ankh was clearly without its mate. Joey tested out the clasp—one of those odd ones that kind of hinged open and snapped shut again, much better than French wire—and turned it over on his palm. A bit of baking soda and water would scrub the tarnish right off. He didn't know why he was thinking about cleaning something he couldn't even—

Joey closed his fingers around the earring and rushed out of his room. He didn't bother to close the door behind him this time, and, fuck, enough was enough. He opened all the curtains wide, flooding his parents' room with early afternoon sun. When he turned around, the light reflected off the mirror made him squint. Blinking rapidly, he approached the dresser and righted all the picture frames. His father would have a fit about those, too. 

Purposefully, Joey picked the earring out of his palm and held it up against his right ear, then his left. He knew a few guys at school who had gotten an ear pierced, though they were generally the ones he wanted nothing to do with. The only one he had any care for was in the Brigade. Eric claimed that he'd done it just to piss off his parents.

Joey switched to his right ear, then back again to his left, just to make sure.

*

Billy Tepper waited patiently until Joey had pulled all his bedclothes off the bottom bunk, then started pacing around the room. Jesus, the guy was nervous. Fun to talk to, but nervous, and it was surprising to think that somebody so cocksure of himself had been bothered by the prospect of having to sleep on the top bunk.

"Hey, man, take it easy," Joey said, sitting back down at his desk. "Unless you're thinking about decorating this place or something, because that's what I was thinking about doing next. We have, like, two days till summer term officially starts."

"Get here early and all that shit," Billy said, as if echoing somebody. "Orientation bullshit. Do I have to do orientation?" He was standing in front of the window now, staring outside, arms folded across his chest. Defensive _and_ vulnerable.

"Um, probably," Joey admitted, standing up again. He walked over to the window, getting as close to Billy as he dared. "But this is such a small place that it's usually one-on-one, you know, that kind of thing. A day of this-is-this, that-is-that, and if you do this, Dean Parker will kick your ass."

Billy let out a burst of laughter, half turning to face him.

"That almost rhymed."

"Somebody's gotta make you relax."

"You've taken it upon yourself, huh?"

"Look, we're going to be _living_ together, okay?" Joey said. "I don't want any of this weird shit getting in the way." _And you're interesting, and fucking hell, I think I like you_.

When Billy smiled, Joey felt the kind of seize-up he usually only felt when he read something that was so amazing that he had to remind himself to breathe again.

"At least somebody around here is sane," Billy said, then tilted his head curiously. "Hey, whoa. Nice earring."

"Thanks," Joey said, glancing at the floor. "I'm lucky they let me keep it."

"What, are they assholes about that kind of thing? I've been thinking of getting it done."

"Not really," Joey said, rolling his eyes. "They just give you this talk about how you'd better not wear anything too crazy, and that you can't pierce your nose or your tongue or some stupid shit like that. Let me ask you, who the _fuck_ would pierce their tongue?"

"The same dumb shits that pierce their dicks, probably," Billy said, still looking at Joey's ear. "Just, you know, I thought it was a cross. But it's not."

 _No shit, Sherlock,_ Joey wanted to say, but instead, he said, "Nope."

"I don't think I could pull that kind of thing off," Billy said glumly.

"What, Egyptian? Sure you could."

"No, something dangly."

"Yeah," Joey said, studying Billy's face thoughtfully. "You're a stud kind of guy." Immediately, he looked away again. What the fuck had possessed him to say that? Billy would think he was trying to—

"I think so, too," Billy said seriously, completely oblivious. He pinched his left earlobe with thumb and forefinger, demonstrating. "I was thinking here. You're an artist, what do you say?"

Joey stared at him, then walked around to glance at Billy's profile from the right.

"You're right," he said. "It's the left."

"Cool," Billy said, breaking into a grin. "So, when we gonna sneak out of here to get it done?"

"The nearest mall's not within walking distance."

"How many miles?"

"Geez, I don't know," Joey said. "Ten?"

"That's within walking distance," Billy said, raising an eyebrow. _Daring_ him.

"It'd take all day," Joey warned. "The place closes around 9."

"Then I guess that's what we're doing tomorrow."

"You have orientation."

"Fuck orientation."

Joey swallowed. They were standing so close now that he could feel Billy's breath on his cheek, and it was even worse when he realized that _he_ was the one who had moved the most. Bloody fucking hell. What was _happening_ to him?

"It's your funeral," Joey said, turning around, and started to climb the ladder to the top bunk. "We'll have to leave here pretty early. I hope you're a morning person."

"I am when I have to be," Billy said, and just stood there watching him.

"Good," Joey said, peering down at him, then set to work.

"Subtle," Billy said a few seconds later.

"What?" Joey finished stuffing his pillowcase and tossed the pillow at the headboard. "You talking to me?"

"No, I'm talking to the walls," Billy said. "Yes, you."

"I'm subtle?"

"No, you're actually not," Billy said, half smiling. "It's called sarcasm. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find somebody who'll just be straight-up with you?"

"Or somebody who looks good in a dangly earring?"

"Fuck you," Billy said, grinning again, and started up the ladder.

"Ladies first," Joey said, and dropped his blue blanket on Billy's head.


	23. Where the Orchids Grow

Cecilia's kitchen is a greenhouse. Billy drums his fingers on the table and looks around, mentally recording every potted thing that his eyes come in contact with. They're orchids, mostly—fucking delicate, expensive, brilliantly colored things that sit on all the window ledges and free counter space. There are some African violets, too, like his mom keeps. She says they're impossible to kill. _Like bettas_ , he thinks.

At the sink, Cecilia is humming off-key and pushing dishes down under the soapsuds, which are threatening to spill out. On her back, in a contraption Billy can't name, the new baby makes quiet sucking noises around his clenched fist. Once in a while, he stretches and makes a louder sound, something between a cry and a cranky gasp. Billy can't stop staring: he has more hair than should be legal on a kid just under a year old.

"You okay back there?" asks Cecilia, half turning. Her hair's longer than the last time Billy saw her, down to the middle of her back, and she has it pulled in a loose ponytail. The soft crinkles at the corners of her eyes might mean she's been laughing a lot, or it might mean that she never quite got over crying. If that's the case, Billy understands.

"Yeah," he says. "Just tired, that's all. Long trip."

"I'll say," Cecilia agrees, turning back to the sink. The baby kicks and shrieks, but she ignores him, reaching for the sponge. She goes back to humming a carol that drifts constantly between "Silent Night" and "Lo, How a Rose E'er Blooming."

Billy notices a hanging basket in the window above her head. It's a spider plant.

"You're really quiet," she says, her voice guiltily soft. "You can eat those cookies. Dom hates 'em, says I used too much butter, the jackass. Squirt eats 'em anyway."

"Don't call me that," says Gina, drumming her heels against her chair. She flashes Billy a big grin from across the table, holding up a flying reindeer cookie. She makes a shark-like sound and bites the head off, red cinnamon nose and all. Billy applauds, whistling.

"You just killed Rudolph," he says. "Now who's gonna lead the sleigh?"

"Prancer," replies Gina, assertively. "Like in the movie."

"Huh, I guess," Billy says, stumped. He hasn't seen it, but he'll take her word. In the middle of the table, there's a white lily that feels gravely out of season. He reaches for one of the blossoms absently, stroking the waxy petal. It smells like death should smell: gentle and forgiving. He remembers, vaguely, that there were still lilies in the chapel when—

"We got those at Easter," Gina tells him with her mouth full of reindeer legs.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," warns Cecilia, switching to a low, soothing hiss when the baby starts to fuss. He's probably hungry, or maybe just tired of being carried around.

"I can take him if you want," says Billy, standing up. Gina watches him with lazy, precocious interest, and he finds it hard to meet her eyes. The look is too familiar.

"If you can get him outta that thing, sure," Cecilia says. "I always get him stuck in it."

"Mom, you're dumb," Gina says, setting the mangled cookie down on the table. She smashes it with one firm pounding of her fist, grinning devilishly.

"Aw, _fuckin'_ —"

"Here," says Billy, cutting in, racing over to the sink. He finds the buckles and how the straps work quickly enough, and Cecilia breathes a _thanks_ under her breath as he carefully lifts the baby onto his shoulder. The kitchen must be too cold, because he stirs and gives a disturbed wail, struggling. Billy hisses to him like Cecilia did, bouncing on the soles of his feet. Above the oven, he spots a row of cacti on the spice rack.

"He doesn't _liiike_ you," Gina informs him, smiling like she doesn't mean it.

"Oh yeah? _I_ don't like _you_." The baby hiccups in Billy's ear.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire!"

"Gina, keep your voice down!"

The baby starts to cry in earnest, and five tiny, sharp fingernails dig under Billy's collar and into his collarbone. He starts, but his hold on the baby is tight enough that it doesn't falter. Gina is making wide eyes at him, hands clamped over her mouth, giggling.

"Billy, you can give him to Dom, honestly."

"Nah," says Billy, walking back to his seat. "I'm good."

Gina gives up on scraping her crumbs into a pile and stands up on her chair. She bends over and smells the nearest lily blossom, making a face. She picks off one of the petals.

"Flowers are dumb," she says.

"Oy, you think _everything's_ dumb," chides Cecilia.

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Do not!"

"Ya do too, now sit the hell down!"

The baby makes a cooing sound, grasping at Billy's collar. He kicks and stretches in a pretty good imitation of what he'll have to do to start crawling, or maybe he already has. Billy watches Gina roll her eyes and stick the lily petal on her nose. It falls off and lands on her crumbs.

"You're dead meat if you do that to my orchids, squirt."

"Orchids are dumb."

"Orchids are expensive," says Billy, lamely, stroking the back of the baby's head. The dark hair is so fine that it feels like spun nothingness. He closes his eyes, and the lily-smell is stronger. He wonders if the orchids have a smell, but he won't sniff them.

Outside, there's snow, but it isn't thick and it probably won't last till morning. He keeps his eyes closed and imagines what cars passing in the streets must see: red, festive curtains drawn wide open, and a little girl hopping up and down excitedly on her chair. The back of a young man's head, a baby squirming on his shoulder.

Across the table, the squeaking of Gina's soles on the chair stops.

"Hey, Joey," she says.

"Gina, we don't call him that," says Cecilia, sternly.

"You're dumb," Gina says, and it's then that Billy opens her eyes and sees her smile. "Hi," she says. "Don't you think Joseph is a dumb name for a little baby?"

"No," Joey says, perfectly and suddenly poised on the edge of the chair beside Billy's.

"You're dumb, too."

"Gina _Maria_!"

"It's okay," Billy says, turning his head to look at Joey. _Where the hell were you?_

"Dad's place," Joey says, indignantly. "I told you I'd be a few hours."

"Yeah, a few hours of sitting and watching him stare—"

"Billy?" Cecilia asks. She turns from the sink, uncertainly drying her hands.

"Sorry," Billy says, nuzzling the top of the baby's head. "Talking to myself."

"Sorry," echoes Cecilia, turning back to the sink. "None of my business."

"Yeah, none of your business," says Gina, sitting down. "What did he stare at?" she asks Joey, interested.

"Pictures," says Joey, shrugging. "You know all those pictures on his shelf?"

"Yeah," she says, nodding. "You look funny."

"Brat. I do not."

"Sorry, but I'm with the brat," says Billy, shushing the baby again.

"Nice cover, asshole," replies Joey, elbowing his arm.

" _Ow_."

"Gina, cut it out!"

"I didn't do it. Joey hit him."

"For the hundredth fuckin' time, we don't call your brother that."

"Jesus Christ," Joey muttered under his breath.

"Wow," Billy says, patting the baby's back. "You guys are nuts."

"Wuh," says the baby, then hiccups again.

Joey reaches over and tweaks the kid's small hand.

"Welcome to the family," he says, and leans over to kiss Billy's cheek.

Gina's on her chair again, pointing at the curtains above Billy's head, shrieking with laughter. Joey smirks at him, same fucking irritating look as Gina had earlier.

Sure enough, he'd missed the mistletoe.


	24. Flashback: You Must Listen to Me Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reader wanted to know what was going through Billy's and Joey's heads in that instant (in the film, but in _BOH_ context) before Billy makes his mad dash to kick off the soccer ball / remote-controlled airplane distraction, so here it is.

_This is terror. This is what it means to die._

Joey isn't an idiot. Whatever else he may be—WOP, hothead, maybe even a fag—he understands that his entire life has somehow been leading him down the tight, rusting spiral stair to this very moment. The irises of Billy's eyes are dark with fear, the color of the metal that causes the worn rubber soles of his shoes to squeak. He's got to get through this so he can die, too, and find Billy again: that's all he knows.

_One way or another, I'm going to lose you. You don't stare down the barrel and survive._

At last, finally, _forever_ —he lets go of the railing and, briefly, takes Billy's hand.

*

Billy is very often an idiot. Whatever else he may know—that he's reckless, that he's a douchebag, that he really does love Joey more than life—he knows this. And he's about to risk throwing it all away by putting his life on the line. His idiocy is _really_ winning out. He wishes he could grab Joey's hand again and tell him that he must listen, that he _will_ make it back or, indeed, die trying.

_One way or another, I'm not going to fuck this up. Whatever else I lose, I'm going to keep you._

Joey's eyes pale when he's afraid. His hand was warm in that split-second, forgiving.

_This is the way the world ends: in silence and, sadly, in love._


	25. The Middle of Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had intended for this story to kick off a post- _BOH_ arc, effectively a new series, but I can't seem to get close to any of these stories without emotion getting the better of me. Let this be enough for now.

"Can you explain that further, Barbara?"

"I don't see what else there is to explain," said Billy's mother, exasperated. "His best friend died almost a year ago, and he's been in his own world ever since. I'm afraid to let him cross the street, let alone drive a car or go off to college."

"Is your son living at home now that he's graduated?"

"Temporarily," Barbara admitted.

"Last we spoke, you said he preferred his father's company to yours."

"I don't think it matters. It's like we're not even here, his father and I."

"You do realize that the grieving process can take quite some time. You lost your own parents not that long ago, if I remember correctly. Give him some time."

"But…" Barbara hesitated.

"Is there something you're afraid to mention?"

"He talks to himself," she muttered.

"All of us do, to some degree," explained Dr. Webster, his tone eternally soothing. "Do you mean to suggest that the trauma seems to have…exacerbated the tendency?"

"I think I've been very clear, Richard."

"Then you're suggesting that your son is—"

Billy placed the phone quietly back in its cradle, grimacing.

"Well, it's official," he announced. "I'm still crazy."

Joey lifted his head from the table, rubbing his ear where it had intersected with the cord.

"Tell me something I _don't_ know," he said. "She's gotta get her facts straight. It's been ten months."

"Um, that's almost a year, to be fair."

"She's not being fair to you," Joey pointed out, not amused.

"Oh, so you're allowed to joke about it and I'm not?" Billy countered. This was dangerous territory; they'd had a few go-rounds over Joey's apparent prerogative to make wise cracks about his death when nobody else seemed to be in the mood for it. Nobody, of course, amounted to Billy, and occasionally one of the other guys. 

"I wasn't joking," Joey said. "My point is, she's trying to rush you."

"Expect nothing less," Billy replied, and stood up. "So, got any other ideas?"

"Eavesdropping's lame, man. And it was _your_ idea." Joey got up and went over to the bed, plopping down on the edge. "I want to go see a movie or something."

"We can't," Billy said, sitting down beside him. "The only reason I picked up is because I thought it might be Snuff. He always calls when he's late."

"Thank fucking God for small favors," said Joey, under his breath. "Is Hank coming?"

"No, just Snuffy. Hank's at Johns Hopkins seeing some chick, remember?"

"You didn't tell me that. When did you hear that?" demanded Joey, punching Billy's arm.

"When Snuffy called yesterday morning, asshole. You were—well, hell if I know where you were. Checking up on Gina and little Joey?"

"They call him J.D., and yes, I was at Dom and Cecilia's."

Billy softened his expression, suddenly aware that he had been scowling. "That's okay. I just wondered. How are they doing? Haven't seen 'em since right before Ceci popped. Joseph Dominic, huh? That was—April?"

"April," confirmed Joey, before Billy had finished. At least he was smiling again. "Gina's got a real mouth on her. The baby'll be cussing before he's three."

"I wish Mom had been that cool about swearing when I was little," said Billy, wistfully. "Dad says she swore almost worse than any trucker he'd ever met, back in the day."

"Dad doesn't swear much," Joey said, staring absently at the sheets.

Billy looked away.

"Sorry," Joey said, eyes brightening again, and scooted over to rest his head on Billy's shoulder. "Any second now," he added. "Five. Four. Three, two—"

The phone rang, and Billy almost jumped out of his skin. It stopped midway through the second. There was the sound of heavy footsteps down the hall, stockings sliding on wood laminate.

"Billy!" Barbara shouted. "Phone. You can pick _up_ now," she added venomously.

"Fuck you, too," Billy muttered, reaching across Joey, who had collapsed into his lap, to the bed stand. The phone almost slipped from his grasp. "Fucking _fuck_. Hello?"

"I love it when you talk dirty," said Snuffy on the other end.

"Bite me," Joey said, raising his voice, but it was mostly muffled against Billy's stomach.

"No can do, spook," replied Snuffy, loudly. "Billy, what've you done to him now?"

"Nothing," Billy said, "and if you call him that again, I'll punch your fucking teeth in when you get here."

There was a loud, startled breath, followed by a distant click somewhere on the line.

"Jesus," Billy said. "Quiet. Did you hear that?"

"Yeah," Snuffy said, raising his voice again, this time to compensate for what sounded like passing traffic. "Sounds to me like your mom is having a little fun."

"I'm on it," said Joey, dissipating faster than Billy could agree with him.

"Jesus," Billy said again, feeling as if his vocabulary had shrunk by about three thousand words. His heart was racing.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Snuffy asked. "Listen, pal, my phone's about to die. I'm just calling to let you know I've stopped off for coffee. I should be there in about an hour."

"Mom thinks I'm crazy," Billy said.

"What?" Snuffy said, raising his voice as a truck let loose on its horn.

"You wanted to know what was on my mind, didn't you?"

"Tell me something I _don't_ know."

"I really hate it when you guys do that."

"Do what?"

"Never mind," said Billy, rubbing his forehead. "Look, I'll make a long story short: I caught Mom on the phone with her shrink earlier. She's explaining my 'case' to him. I think she's going to ask me to go into therapy. She's afraid to let me go to college."

There was an audible pause, as if Snuffy was actually putting some thought into his response. "Okay," he began. "Right. No offense, Billy, but you've gotta think for just a second about what your mom's putting up with. Hell, I know better than most people. I don't need a shrink to tell me you're crazy, or that I'm crazy, either. We're crazy, but it's a special kind of crazy. It's not your fault, got it? If you want to get technical, _she's_ the one going crazy. And I'm pretty sure Herr Doctor wouldn't want to have a talk with…uh. Yeah."

 _With Joey_ , Billy thought, closing his eyes. "Right. Yeah. Um, look, you drive safe, okay?"

"No problem, bro," Snuffy said, and a car door slammed somewhere near the receiver. "I'm on it!"

"I _really_ hate it when you guys do that."

Snuffy must've understood this time, because he was laughing like a maniac.

"Old habits die hard. So to speak."

"Shut _up_!" Joey yelled from somewhere in the next room. It shook the wall.

"Holy fucking fuck," said Snuffy.

"Yeah, you don't know the half of it," Billy said under his breath. "I gotta go. Bye."

Just as Billy hung up, Joey came in through the bedroom door, letting it swing wide open. Billy's mom was standing there, somewhat dazed, eyes darting between the door and Billy. She looked torn between sheer terror and absolute fury.

"What did you do?" she demanded.

"Nothing," said Billy, straight-faced, and watched Joey lean against the wall with his arms folded, smirking at him. "I was on the phone with Snuffy."

"I know," said Barbara, pursing her lips tightly. She was still looking at the wall.

"No marks," Billy told her. "Look all you want."

"I had really hoped you'd give up on the wise-guy act. Anyone would think you were still in high school."

"Nope," said Billy, pointing to the Regis diploma hung above his bed. Joey darted across to the bed, crawled past Billy, and reached up to give the frame a jiggle. Reflexively, against his better judgment, Billy reached for his leg and gave a tug. "Cut it _out_!"

"Okay, okay," said Joey, and sat down on the pillows. He tilted his head at Barbara.

 _Shit_ , Billy thought, and looked at his mother. She was visibly shaking.

"I think you ought to consider therapy," she said, her voice wavering.

"Why?" Billy shot back, automatically defensive. "I haven't done anything, and you know it."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Barbara said, glancing at the door again, nervously.

"What, that my behavior's improved so much that it can't _possibly_ be normal?"

"That'd be one way of putting it," Joey said, his sarcasm palpable.

Billy gave him a look. _If you don't stay out of this_ …

"No," said Barbara, abruptly collecting herself. "I'm afraid that you're in severe denial."

"Denial of what?" Billy challenged. "I'm heading to fucking M.I.T. in two months. What more do you want from me, huh? I'll go back to Dad's for the rest of the summer if you don't cut this bullshit. I'm _fine_."

"He's gone, Billy," Barbara said harshly. "Do you hear me?"

"I'm sorry, but no. We're not discussing this. I thought we were clear on that."

"You're having a lot of trouble, Billy." This time, there was an edge of concern in his mother's voice. "You didn't have this much trouble when your grandparents died."

"I think you know pretty damned well why I didn't have this much trouble with them."

A quick glance at Joey showed Billy that he was motionless, his troubled eyes fixed on his hands, which were folded in his lap. Billy wanted nothing more than to reach for him, but that would only make the situation worse. His mother was noticing things. She'd been noticing things whenever Billy was home ever since the lamp incident, and that had been months ago. Thank fucking God his dad was oblivious.

"If you won't see Dr. Webster, then you should at least find somebody to go out with. Just casually, Billy. It would help. It helped me a lot after the divorce."

"Unlike you, I don't consider one-night stands a valid form of therapy."

Behind Billy, Joey stifled a laugh.

"This conversation is over," Barbara said, and stalked out of the room.

"Just like I said," Billy called after her, and sank back down on the bed. He reached over to take Joey's hand. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Joey said, not quite managing to mask the worry in his voice. "Forget the movies. _That's_ some quality entertainment."

"C'mere," Billy sighed, and tugged on Joey's hand.

"You first," said Joey, pulling Billy back onto the pillows.

 _We are fucked_ , Billy thought a few minutes later, beginning to drift off against Joey's chest as Joey's fingers combed through his hair. _And, on top of it all, we're getting company whose specialty is screwing his friends six ways to Sunday_.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Billy didn't answer, hoping Joey would think he was asleep.

* * *

If Joey were being honest with himself, then he would admit that he was a bit disappointed in Billy's choice of M.I.T. over Harvard. Not but what it wasn't a better match overall: Billy would fit right in, and the hacks pulled off during his four years would go down in history as the best that the school had ever seen. Still, Joey wondered if he'd be able to cope with the work-load—he'd heard it was _worse_ than at Harvard, especially for undergrads—and that they had some kind of course exchange program with Wellesley, which Billy would probably see as the perfect opportunity to prank a bunch of uptight, over-intelligent young women.

If Joey were being honest with himself, he'd admit he was terrified that Billy would actually get a life. At this point, Joey at least wasn't _kidding_ himself: making your dead lover top priority was turning out to be a lot more trouble than it was worth. And, as the aforementioned deceased, nobody knew it better than he did.

Joey yawned, opening his eyes. He hadn't been asleep anyway, but Billy was.

Carefully, he disentangled himself and headed for the bedroom door. Billy shifted a bit and murmured something, but he subsided as quickly as he might have awakened. Joey looked at him for a few seconds, trying to read what had briefly crossed the empty serenity of his expression. Was he dreaming? _What_ was he dreaming?

For Joey, sleep had lost a lot of its novelty. It had taken him a good six months to realize that he no longer dreamed. At all. It was frightening in ways he couldn't even name.

Barbara probably needed a bit of a break from her regularly scheduled mind-fuck, so Joey slipped out through the wall instead of using the door. He wandered from room to room until he found her in the kitchen, hunched over the countertop with an oversized mug of coffee in her hands. She was staring at a piece of paper. It looked like somebody's number.

"You're _really_ emo, you know," Joey told her, and made his way to the living room. He wanted to turn on the television, but that would be a bit much. He'd only done it about half a dozen times, and it usually resulted in Barbara turning it off just as quickly as he'd turned it on, glancing around the room with wild fear in her eyes. That was the look she never let Billy see, and it was also the look that interested Joey.

She had never replaced the broken lamp, he noticed

Joey sat down on the couch, drawing his legs up. The room was so goddamned _boring_ —beige, beige, beige. Part of him hoped Billy would inherit the place, just so Joey could have the satisfaction of redecorating before selling it off. He wondered if Billy would make a profit. David Tepper did good construction work, and the house was really no exception. David's own house was even better, but it was sad to think that the house Joey was sitting in _used_ to be the place David called home.

The doorbell rang, interrupting Joey's thoughts. After a few moments, when Barbara failed to leave the kitchen and answer it, Joey got up and ran to the entryway. He peered through the door and saw Snuffy standing there with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, glancing around the vast porch like expected somebody to appear and usher him in.

Joey stepped back inside and opened the door. Snuffy didn't look amused.

"She's going to wonder how I got in, dickhead," he said, looking genuinely disturbed. "So, how are you?"

"Not bad," Joey said, ignoring the insult. "Get in here. It's cold."

"How would you know?" Snuffy asked, smirking, and stepped inside. "Huh, nice place."

"Thanks," said Barbara's voice from almost directly behind Joey.

"Jesus," he muttered, stepping to one side.

"I'm sorry I didn't answer," said Barbara, offering Snuffy her hand. "I was in the kitchen. I'm glad you had enough sense to come in; I don't usually lock the door if I'm here."

"In _this_ town?" Snuffy asked, incredulously, shaking her hand. "Thanks for having me while orientation's going on. There's no way you can convince me dorms are kept clean during the summer."

Inexplicably, Barbara was smiling. Joey hoped it wasn't the look he thought it was.

"Snuff, let go of her hand," he said, warily. "She takes extended contact of any kind with the opposite sex as a come-on. It's not pretty."

Snuffy ignored him, returning her smile. "So, where's Billy—doing that hellish summer reading I've heard about?"

"No," said Barbara, glancing over her shoulder with a weary look. "Asleep, probably."

Joey rolled his eyes and decided Snuffy deserved to see him vanish. A second later, Joey bent over Billy's bed, shaking Billy by the shoulder. "Hey, hey, get up," he whispered.

" _Hmmm_. What?" Billy rubbed his eyes, squinting at Joey.

"Snuffy's here," Joey said, tugging him to his feet. "Your mom got to him first."

"Great, just the kind of welcome he wanted," Billy muttered, yawning.

"Dude, you've gotta save him," Joey insisted. "She's a man-eater."

Billy burst out laughing, no longer half asleep.

"Snuffy's not her type. What have you been smoking?"

"Never mind," said Joey, yanking on Billy's arm again. "You have company, man."

" _We_ have company," Billy corrected him, and gave Joey a kiss on the cheek before heading for the door. Joey followed, a distinctly bad feeling looming in the pit of what used to be his stomach. This was the kind of thing he'd been telling himself. It didn't help.

They followed the sound of familiar voices to the kitchen, where Barbara had made more coffee and given Snuffy a cup. She was busy telling Snuffy about some goddamn boring work-related contract, but Snuffy didn't seem to mind. He waved at Billy when he noticed them in the doorway, raising his coffee in silent salute.

"Billy, I'm glad you've finally decided to be a proper host," said Barbara, abruptly ending her monologue in favor of taking her mug to the sink. "I have a lot of work to do. I'll see you both later for dinner, unless you have other plans."

"Not that I know of," Snuffy said, but Billy silenced him with a look.

"We might. Thanks, Mom," he said, and helped himself to some of the coffee that was still left in the pot. He waited till Barbara was gone, then glanced at Joey. "Want some?"

"Nah," said Joey, and sat down beside Snuffy at the table. "So, you've got orientation or something? Doesn't Yale have enough room in the dorms for an ego as big as yours?"

"Very funny," said Snuffy, taking a sip of his coffee. "I don't _do_ dorms in the summertime, got it? Ever since this camp I did in elementary school, I've been scarred."

"Actually, I don't blame you," said Billy, taking a seat across from Snuffy. "This one time, I was at Penn State for some bullshit summer enrichment program, and—"

"Heard it," said Joey, getting up from his seat. "Did your mom throw out my tea?"

"Yeah, unfortunately," Billy said, frowning, then turned his attention back to Snuffy. "Anyway, in the garbage can, we found this _thing_ that looked like a—"

"Fucking bitch," muttered Joey, rummaging farther back. "Billy, that story is _gross_."

"That's the whole point," said Snuffy. "So, what'd you find?"

"Like Joey said, it's gross," Billy said, sounding disappointed.

Joey pulled out a peppermint tea bag from a box at the back and stared at him. "Well?"

"Forget it," said Billy, rubbing his eyes. "Some other time."

Snuffy glanced at Billy, then at Joey, rolling his eyes down at his coffee.

"Will you guys ever cease to be completely and utterly _pathetic_?"

"Sure," said Joey, turning the heat on under the kettle Barbara kept on the stove. "In your dreams."

"Can't you just give him some chocolate or something?" Snuffy asked Billy, sounding too serious for Joey's liking. "We have a lot of catching up to do."

"So do you two," Bully said, giving Joey a get-me-the-hell-out-of-this-mess-you-made look.

"Yeah, well, Joey's idea of catching up these days is an insult match."

"Funny, but I distinctly remember you calling me a dickhead first."

"Um," said Billy, raising one hand in the air. "Unless I'm deaf, I don't remember him calling you a dickhead."

"At the door," Joey said, pointing the sugar spoon directly at Snuffy. "I let him in, and he called me a dickhead.

Billy looked like he was about to panic.

"Wait, you told me my mom—"

"I lied," said Joey, dropping his voice. _Shit, shit, shit, fuck_.

"Do you have any idea what a disaster that could've been?" Billy asked, suddenly so focused on Joey that Snuffy might as well have been invisible. "Do you want to get me locked up in some state institution under 24-hour surveillance? _Huh_?"

"What the _shit_ is going on here?" asked Snuffy, but no one answered him.

"You were asleep," said Joey, turning his attention to pouring hot water over his tea bag.

"Yeah, but you could've gotten me up," said Billy. "Jesus, Joey."

"It's done now, all right?" Joey snapped, throwing up both hands, almost tipping his cup over. "What do you expect me to do, sit around in your bedroom and be a good dog? Sit, stay, roll over, don't leave the fucking room unless I say—"

"Joey," Billy said, that familiar, frightened note of warning rising in his tone.

"Maybe I ought to leave," said Snuffy, getting up. He crossed between the two of them, dumping the remainder of his coffee down the sink. "No dorm-room horror could be worse than having to put up with you two sniping at each other for a week while Billy's mom checks behind every door for booby traps."

"Sit the hell down," said Billy, sharply, and Snuffy obeyed.

Joey stared at the floor, tea forgotten. Oh, God, he'd done it. _Really_ done it.

"Snuff, you could just ignore him. If you really wanted, you could ignore him, and you'd both be happier."

"It doesn't work like that," Snuffy said, looking up at Billy. "It's like you flipped some fucking switch when we were in Rhode Island for spring break. I see ghosts, or at least I see _this_ ghost. D'you think that's funny? That I can _ignore_ him?"

"I'm still here," said Joey, finding that he had to grit the words out between the memory of clenched teeth. "Would you please not talk about me like I'm not fucking pres—"

"I don't care what you do, Snuff, but _whatever_ you do, at least realize it's a person you're ignoring. Got it?" said Billy, eyes fixed on Joey while he said it.

"Who said I'm ignoring him? I sure didn't," said Snuffy, rising from his chair again. "All I know is, this visit is gonna be weird enough. I'll be in and out of the house. I'd like to see you guys while I'm here, and I'd like us to at least have some fun, you know? I don't want to have to put up with Joey losing his temper every five seconds because he's still holding some grudge against me, and I don't want to have to put up with _you_ "—he pointed at Billy—"sticking up for him all the time. Get a goddamned backbone."

The ensuing silence was deafening. Joey closed his eyes, ready to let the dark swallow him and take him wherever it wanted: his dad's house, Dom's house, Regis, anywhere he wouldn't have to deal with the crushing tension that seemed to gather under Barbara's roof. Billy grabbed his hand, squeezing it fiercely.

"Oh, no you don't," he said.

Joey opened his eyes, sighing heavily. One breath in, one breath out.

"I hope we're cool," said Snuffy. "I hope you guys understand where I'm coming from."

"Let's find a place to call for take-out," said Billy, refusing to let go of Joey's hand.

"No Thai," said Snuffy. "I accidentally had peanuts _last_ week."

"No Italian," said Joey. "That place up the road sucks."

"Excellent," said Billy, sarcastically. "All I've got to do is keep you guys in parallel disagreement about _everything_." He started rummaging in a drawer for takeout menus.

Snuffy glanced at Joey, shrugging.

"Basically, yeah," said Joey, full of dread, and went to look for the phone book.

* * *

"Really?" Billy asked, not even bothering to swallow his mouthful of sweet and sour chicken. "Already? You gotta be kidding me."

"Nope," said Snuffy, glumly poking his lo mein around with one chopstick in each hand. "He told me everything. Apparently he's really got it bad for her."

"'Got it bad'?" Joey echoed, staring at Snuffy. "Who the hell says that anymore?"

"I do, now shut up," said Snuffy. "It's not funny. I thought…"

"That he'd wait around for you forever?" Billy asked, folding his arms across his chest, leaning back against the bed. "Not fucking likely, Snuff. Unlike some of us, Hank seems to have a life." He shot Joey a worried glance before saying, "You know what I mean."

"No," Snuffy said, defensively. "That he'd come to his senses and _talk_ to me before we left Regis."

"I think he was waiting for _you_ ," said Joey, nibbling on a piece of crab rangoon.

"To do what? Write it out on my forehead?"

"No, to take him seriously," said Billy, and carefully scooped some rice into his mouth.

"You guys are fucking good with those things," said Snuffy, reaching for one of the plastic forks. "Anyway, I hope he's happy with her. Hopkins is full of sluts anyway."

"I never heard that," said Joey, mouth full. "Where'd that come from?"

"Asshole, I'm trying to make myself feel better."

"Oh, well, in that case," said Billy, reaching for the Coke.

"You know what?" Snuffy asked no one in particular. "We're a bunch of boring fucks. Billy, where does your mom keep the booze?"

"Can't you even wait till she's at work?" Billy asked, pouring himself some of the soda.

"No," said Snuffy. "I haven't had a drink for two days. Where's _your_ stash, huh?"

"Back corner of the closet," said Joey. "No vodka, though."

"Oh, you suck," said Billy, tossing a fortune cookie at Joey.

It hit the wall behind him. Joey smirked.

Snuffy got up and stalked over to the closet.

"I really just want a drink. I don't care if anybody else does."

"Not really," said Billy. "Tequila isn't good with Coke."

"Tequila's good with anything, if you drink enough," said Snuffy, bringing the bottle over and setting it down between them. He glanced at Joey's empty plastic cup. "You want any?"

"No," Joey said, reaching for more crab rangoon. "No point."

"I find it distinctly unfair that you don't have to worry about alcohol poisoning," said Snuffy, pouring himself half a cup. "Bottoms up, boys," he said, and drained it.

"That's gross shit," said Joey, reaching for the Coke instead.

Billy concentrated on his food, one bit of chicken at a time. The whole situation was just close enough to normal to make him feel relieved, and just far enough from it to keep him really fucking nervous. It was obvious that Snuffy held more of a grudge than Joey, but Joey's temper made it seem like the opposite. If Joey didn't get the chance to calm down—which Snuffy wasn't going to give him—they wouldn't resolve squat.

"What the hell, Billy? This stuff's _piss_ ," said Snuffy, pouring himself another half-cup anyway.

"Not my tequila," Billy said, trying to stifle an unexpected laugh. "I stole it from Mom."

"And that," Joey said, waving his chopsticks at Snuffy, "is why there's no point."

"Really? I thought it was because you can't get drunk anymore," said Snuffy, trying for his usual smirk and not quite getting it right. "I might actually pity you."

Fury flashed in Joey's glance, but his eyes fell on Snuffy's cup, and it subsided.

"I wouldn't bother if I were you," he said, and took the cup from Snuffy. He drained it, making a face. "Good God, Billy, your mom's booze is worse than her decorating."

"Don't look at me," said Billy, swilling his Coke around. God, he wanted a drink.

"You're the one who stole it from her," said Snuffy, rather loudly.

"Genius, I thought it would do in a pinch. Apparently it didn't, okay?"

Joey patted Billy on the back.

"What were we talking about?" asked Snuffy, starting to look flushed. He eyed the bottle, then took a drink straight from it. "Chicks?"

"Hank's chick," said Joey, grabbing the bottle away. He offered it to Billy, eyes gently teasing.

What the hell. Billy took the bottle and took a long swig. God, it was awful. He took a second pull, handed the bottle back to Joey, then drank the rest of his Coke. The room was starting to look kind of fuzzy.

Joey put the cap back on the tequila and set it over to one side, eyeing Snuffy.

"Chicks with dicks would be more interesting," Snuffy slurred.

"No," said Billy, stifling a hiccup. "No, they really wouldn't."

"I didn't think Hank was into that kind of thing," said Joey, sounding momentarily lost.

Billy glanced at the tequila suspiciously. It wasn't good, but it was _strong_. Everything looked like it was wrapped in a thin layer of gauze, including Joey. His stomach churned.

"Hey, man, you okay?" Snuffy asked, sounding sort of far away.

"No," said Billy, and stood up. Joey was beside him in a split second, both hands on his arm, asking with those fucking eloquent eyes of his if this was his fault, if he'd done this. Snuffy looked confused, but he was also trying to get more lo mein in his mouth.

Joey was saying, "Billy, I swear to God—"

Billy pulled away from him—more effortless to do than he'd realized—and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He'd been sick as a dog before, and while this didn't count as sick as a dog, it counted as losing all the progress he'd made with dinner. It seemed like a brief eternity before somebody came into the bathroom. Snuffy.

"Man," he whispered, putting a hand on Billy's arm. "That's bad shit. Billy?"

"Where's Joey?" Billy asked. The rim of the toilet was cold against his forehead.

"Out there," said Snuffy. "Lucky thing he can't throw up. I might."

"Not yet," Billy gasped, but there was nothing left for him to choke on.

* * *

It might have been the longest night Joey had ever passed.

Billy didn't sleep well, but that was, of course, the natural consequence of Chinese takeout and too much bad tequila. Joey found it easier to blame Barbara, so that's what he did, keeping Billy from getting tangled in the sheets and bringing him glasses of water.

No, maybe it wasn't _the_ longest night, he thought—but it was close.

Snuffy was passed out on the air mattress. Lucky bastard had gotten off easy, no puking or anything. He snored a bit, which made Joey wonder if there'd been something in the food anyway that had tripped off one of his allergies. He kind of hoped there was.

Fucking lucky bastard could still _have_ allergies.

Joey leaned back against the headboard, drawing up his knees. Billy rolled over, one arm curling around the nearest bit of Joey he could reach, which happened to be Joey's ankles. This wasn't the kind of thing Joey was supposed to miss, was it? Getting sick drunk, sneezing in a dusty room, feeling so full he might burst—who _needed_ that shit, really? He could remember it; he'd been sick in those first terrifying moments back in Dr. Gould's office, disoriented and torn out of time. But he couldn't _have_ it anymore, and he couldn't dream anymore, either. If he could, he would have done, wouldn't he?

 _Memory_. Oh, he could remember. He suspected it was all he had to go on, and that it was the only thing keeping him anchored in the land of the living. Well, except for Billy, but it was high time he stopped kidding himself. Billy was as much a memory as anything else in this corner of the afterlife that happened to be his. He just happened to be lucky enough that Billy was a memory with a mind of his own. Shouldn't he feel the same about Snuffy?

Joey didn't move until Billy did, and Billy didn't move again until morning broke.

"Hey," he said, glancing groggily up at Joey. "Long night. You sleep okay?"

Joey ran his fingers through Billy's hair. "Yeah," he lied. "You?"

"Weird fucking dreams," he said, burying his face against Joey's hip.

"Booze will do that," said Joey, tracing the line of Billy's cheek, down his neck to the collar of his shirt. Skin, pulse, bone. Joey sighed, flattening his hand against Billy's shoulder. He knew Billy didn't hold his loss against him. Thank _God_ for that.

"I'm starved," said a voice from the floor. Snuffy's tousled head popped into view.

"I'm sure Mom'll be glad to pretend the big breakfast she's preparing was all her idea."

"I thought I smelled something," said Snuffy, stretching. "Bacon."

"And eggs," said Joey, forcing himself to remember what hunger felt like.

Billy's stomach growled. "I'd like sleep more than food, thank you very much."

"You _need_ food," said Joey, shaking him. "Get up."

"Yes, Mom."

" _Up_. Snuff, would you give me a hand here?"

"Yeah," said Snuffy, and fell back onto his pillow.

"Great," muttered Joey, and tugged Billy into a sitting position. "We're regressing already."

In the kitchen, Barbara was busy at the stove with about three different frying pans. Joey was at least glad to see that she was dressed, although her shirt was fairly low-cut for an item of professional office-wear, which made him wrinkle his nose in distaste. The way she'd looked him up and down that one time in swim trunks, _ugh_.

Billy stumbled into one of the chairs at the table. Snuffy sat down with a bit more grace, apparently not as hung-over as he'd wanted Joey to think. Joey stood behind Billy, leaning against the wall. Barbara hadn't even bothered to acknowledge them.

"Smells great, Mrs. T—uh," Snuffy finished, realizing he'd forgotten about the divorce and didn't know if she'd kept her married name or not. He gave Billy a helpless look. Billy was too busy trying to get rid of a hangnail on his right thumb.

"Witherright-McCormack," said Joey. "Maiden name."

"Thank you, Professor," said Snuffy, rolling his eyes. "Like that helps _now_."

"Billy, it's lovely to know you haven't stopped making faces," said Barbara, tartly. "It's all right," she told Snuffy, managing to get a smile together before she turned to glance at him. "Witherright-McCormack. I went back to my maiden name."

"Told you," said Joey, and reached over Billy's shoulder to snatch his thumb away from his mouth. "Stop that. It'll tear, and you'll get blood all over."

"Hangnails don't bleed _that_ badly," said Snuffy, looking straight at Joey.

"Hangnails?" echoed Barbara, confused.

"Yeah," said Billy, quickly clearing his throat. "I've got one, see?"

"I'd rather not," said Barbara, turning back to the stove.

Snuffy gave Joey a "Would you be quiet already?" look.

"Blow me," said Joey, slipping through the table and into the third chair. It was worth seeing Snuffy turn pale.

"Billy, would you just go get some scissors and _cut_ it?" Barbara asked, irritated.

"After breakfast," said Billy—his tone was stubborn, but he sounded fairly calm. The look he was giving Joey suggested otherwise. It was cool and completely unreadable.

"Sorry, geez," said Joey, staring at the tabletop. "I'm sorry."

Almost instantly, Billy looked stricken. He reached for Joey, hand falling on what would look like absolutely nothing if Barbara happened to turn around again. "J—I didn't mean—"

"Then what _did_ you mean?" Barbara asked, scooping eggs and bacon onto a plate. "That Mr. Bradberry is foolish for not doing his homework on my last name? If anything, _you_ should have had the decency to tell him something like that. Really, I apologize for my son's behavior. It's completely un— _shit_!"

Neither Billy nor Snuffy seemed to realize exactly what had happened, but they were left blinking in shock—Billy because he'd never heard his mother curse before, and Snuffy because Barbara had narrowly managed to miss knocking one of the frying pans off the stove in an attempt to save the one that Joey knocked off balance.

"Close call," she said, setting the plate down on the counter, and quickly flipped off the gas. "Just let me get another plate made up, all right?"

"Yeah," said Billy, refusing to even look at Joey.

"That's no problem," said Snuffy, looking pretty impressed.

"This room's too crowded," said Joey, and walked out, never mind that the stove was in his way. He hoped they'd lose their appetites. Especially Barbara.

Billy didn't call him on anything until after his mother and Snuffy had both left for the day. Snuffy would be on campus for about five hours straight, and Barbara would be gone for even longer, knowing her penchant for overtime. Joey wanted to sink into the couch, but it would've been beyond rude, so he just sat there while Billy stared at him.

"Well?"

"They're freaks, Billy. Both of them. What am I supposed to do about it, huh?"

"I know that," said Billy, throwing up his hands, "but unfortunately for you, one of those freaks is my fucking mother, and the other one is our _friend_. Can't you keep from interfering for just one second? You can torture her all you want when Snuffy's not here, but you've _got_ to stop fucking around with both of them. Mom'll notice even more."

"Funny, she blamed breakfast all on you."

Billy got down on his knees in front of Joey, one hand on each of Joey's shoulders.

"It's all she _can_ do," he said, almost pleading. "Now please, for the love of God, would you stop getting me in trouble?"

Joey opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. It was _true_.

"Huh?" Billy asked. There were actually tears in his eyes.

"Yeah," said Joey, eyes dropping to the floor. "Yeah, shit, I'm sorry. God." Words he'd been pushing down the back of his throat for days on end were crowding at the tip of his tongue now, ready. "Why don't you just dump me or something? It'd be a lot easier."

Billy blinked at him, as if he hadn't heard properly. "I— _what_?"

Joey's stomach curled in on itself, finally there when he least expected it.

"Nothing," he muttered.

"No," said Billy shaking his head. "No, I definitely think I heard that, and I definitely don't want to hear it again. Do you have any idea what a fucking moron you are?"

Anger flared through the memory of sickness and pain, and Joey had to close his eyes and swing at the dark so it wouldn't lay Billy out flat. He was in his father's living room in New Jersey, sitting on the couch, shaking so hard he was sure he'd got something of his old self back from wherever death had sent it. He wasn't alone in the room.

Rosemary was sitting in the chair Dom usually liked to sit in, curled up with a novel.

"Hi," Joey said, ineffectually. "Don't mind me, I'm just…here."

Rosemary glanced up for a brief moment, then turned the page.

"It's a lot easier like this," Joey continued, almost relieved. "I mean when no one can hear me. The trouble is that too many goddamned people can hear me."

Rosemary turned another page. Joey was sure she couldn't read that fast.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm bothering you. You don't even realize it."

Just then, his father came into the room. "Rose?"

"Hey," said Rosemary, looking up, startled. "I thought you were out."

Albert smiled. "No, not anymore. Am I disturbing you?"

"No," Rosemary said, setting aside her book, every line of her posture radiating relief. "It's lonely here when you're gone. Even knowing Alessandro's upstairs doesn't help."

"You didn't have to stay, Rose," said Albert, sitting down on the couch beside Joey. "You know that."

"Albert, where would I go? What do you think I do, waste my days here because I have no one else?"

"No," said Albert. "I don't think so. Not for a moment."

"I waste my days here because _you_ have no one else," said Rose, suddenly angry.

Joey was too shocked to move. He wasn't supposed to be hearing this. He'd walked in on things before, but this was a step above walking in. He was completely uninvited.

Defeated, he closed his eyes and let Billy's anger draw him back. Barbara's couch was more comfortable than the one in his father's house, he realized. Easier to sink into.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Billy was saying, arms wrapped completely around Joey now, as if what he'd been grasping at was about to vanish forever. "Don't do that. _Don't do that_."

Joey was still shaking, and Billy was shaking, too. His breath came in startled, rattling bursts, and to say that he didn't feel well would've been an understatement. He buried his face against Billy's neck, kissing the warm skin blindly. Painful memories—they'd never let it be painful if they could help it, but could they keep out the pain forever?

"I'm scared, Billy," he heard himself saying. " _So fucking scared_."

"Me too, shhh, I know—I mean—" Billy was struggling to get his voice under control, but somehow, between sobs, he managed it. "Joey, what happened?"

Joey clamped his mouth shut, unwilling to speak, but the words got out anyway.

"I wanted to hit you, so I ran. Home. Rosemary was reading. I talked at her because it felt better to talk at somebody who couldn't hear me, and then Dad came in the room and started asking her if he was disturbing her and why the _hell_ did she stay around if the house bothers her, and she said…" Joey babbled until tears got in the way. Real tears.

"Well, shit," said Billy, stroking Joey's hair. "That doesn't sound good."

"I'm the problem," Joey gasped, unable to stop himself.

"What the fuck are you talking about? There's no _way_ you're the problem, you're not even—"

"Billy, shut up. Of course I am. I'm everywhere. In case you hadn't noticed, which I think you have, judging by what you've been saying for two fucking days now, thank you very much, I am _fucking everywhere_ and it's—and I—" Joey stopped.

"You what?" Billy whispered, kissing his forehead. "Joey, you can tell me."

"Haunt houses," he finished, lamely. He really wanted to cry some more, but it was too stupid even for that. All he could do was sit there, cling to Billy, and wish that uppity archangel bitch back in the chapel at Regis had winked them both out of existence.

For a minute, it felt like the spasm in Billy's chest was going to turn into full-blown laughter—but it didn't. It turned into something between a sob and a choked groan, and Billy just started to shake his head as if this whole situation was finally the most hopeless thing he'd ever had the misfortune to be part of. Joey didn't blame him.

"Have you given any thought to, you know, not doing it?"

It was Joey's turn to wonder if he'd actually heard right.

"You mean not be here, or anywhere? Yeah, Billy, believe me, I have, and it's fucking scary."

"No," said Billy, rocking back on his heels, holding Joey at arms' length. "I mean consciously choosing not to fuck with people's heads. I don't mean to point out every single thing you've done wrong in the past forty-eight hours—hell, in the past month and a half—but…" He trailed off, biting his lip. "You do it a _lot_."

"Fuck with people's heads?" Joey echoed, too stunned to get angry this time.

"Well, yeah," said Billy, trying his best to smile. "Mom's especially."

"She's a fucking bitch," Joey said, defensively. "She deserves it."

"So? Your dad's a fucking bastard. By that logic, he deserves it, too, but I hardly see you spending most of your time breaking his lamps and making him think he's going nuts."

"It's not the same thing," Joey whispered, harshly. "You know it's not."

Billy closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, I know, it's not. Your Dad didn't intentionally make your life a living hell; that's just circumstance. Mom _is_ a bitch. She'll never go easy on me. She'll never go easy on herself, either. She'll probably drink herself into an early grave, though—not too early, mind, but just early enough. She doesn't need one more thing slowly breaking her head open, Joey. Let me be the judge of what she deserves, okay? Believe it or not, I used to do just fine getting back at her before you came along. I can do it on my own, honest."

Joey blinked at him. It was the most Billy had said at one go in a very, very long time. And it was a troubling realization, more troubling than knowing his presence couldn't help but be threatening to almost anyone _except_ for Billy.

"I know," said Joey, feeling empty again, as if all the life he'd gathered into himself since morning had drifted out to be scorched in the relentless July sun. "But I can't stand not being able to do anything for you like I used to. I can't _stand_ it, Billy."

Billy gave him a look that was nothing short of heartbreaking.

"You bring me water in the middle of the night when I'm sick drunk. You do tedious pieces of paperwork that I leave up till the last minute. You even mail them sometimes. You _are_ everywhere, Joey. So much that I'm forgetting what it means to do things for myself, all right? Has it even occurred to you, how much power you have?"

"No," Joey said, shaking his head in adamant disbelief. "It's not like that."

Billy grabbed his hands, bringing them up to his lips, pleading.

"Yeah, Joey," he said. "Sometimes it is. But I know you don't know that."

"Then why didn't you tell me, huh?" Joey asked, trying to keep himself from shouting. _Fucking asshole, fucking goddamned ungrateful_ —

"Because I'm terrified that if I _ever_ let on I might not need you for something, that…that _thing_ will come back and take you."

"I can stay here because you're here," said Joey, hollowly. "I thought I explained that." _And I hope I understood her correctly_.

"You did, Joey."

"Well, okay, then why don't you believe me?" he begged, close to tears again.

"I do," said Billy pulling him close. "I just…not that. I don't trust it."

"Did she scare you that much?" Joey asked, suddenly curious. "I know you didn't see her or hear her. What was it like, anyway?"

"Fire," Billy whispered. "It was so cold in there, but the air was fucking on fire, and I thought we were both dying or going to hell or whatever it is they do to guys like us."

"They gave us forever, you lunatic."

"No, they gave us my lifetime. After that, Gabriel or whoever the hell will take you back to your mother in that cozy little Heaven you ended up in the first time around," said Billy, bitterly. "I still feel like our days are numbered. Not as much as at first, but don't think it hasn't occurred to me that there might be a catch."

"There's no catch," said Joey. "What the _hell_ , Billy? Do you think they'd keep you from me even then? Do you think they wouldn't want Mom to know? Uriel seemed like she meant business, but it was all up to me. My terms. Not hers." _I hope_.

Billy took a deep, shaky breath, and nodded. "Right. Gotta believe that."

"I believe it," Joey said. _Most of the time, anyway_.

"As simple as that?" asked Billy, incredulously.

"Well, yeah," said Joey. _I have to; that's what it means to have faith_.

"Good," said Billy, shakily. "Then there's one thing you _can_ go on doing for me."

"Okay," said Joey, and kissed him, but what he wanted to say was, _Faith works in mysterious ways, but not like that_. "Okay."

Later, curled up in Billy's bed, with only a couple of hours left till Snuffy would be getting back, Joey decided that he'd be having a word with a certain archangel—if that's even what she was—as soon as possible, if he could even figure out _how_.

Reluctantly, he also decided that a few things would have to change.

* * *

"Honey, I'm home," said Snuffy. Billy heard his grand entrance with the key Barbara had given him from the whole way back the hall. He groaned, reaching over to give Joey a shove—but Joey wasn't there. He'd left a twist in the blankets, but nothing else.

"Well, shit," Billy said, shoving down the panic that rose in his chest. "One second!" he shouted, collecting his clothes from the floor. What time was it, anyway? A glimpse at his alarm clock between stumbling into his jeans and pulling on his shirt said 4:02 PM. He'd been asleep for hours, that meant. His mother was right about one thing: he _was_ sleeping a lot. 

Billy was sure he wasn't crazy, but it he had to admit that he _might_ be depressed.

He found Snuffy in the kitchen, opening cupboards at random. Snuffy closed the one he was on, apparently unashamed. "I can't remember where the coffee mugs are," Snuffy explained. "Too many damn cupboards."

"Over here," Billy said, crossing the kitchen to fetch him one. Strike that, make it one for each of them. Billy needed as much caffeine as he could get. "Long day?" he asked, setting the cups on the table. "Would you dump that packet of coffee into the machine?"

"Yeah," said Snuffy, picking up the packet, which was on the counter not that far from him, "and _yes_. I was bored out of my skull."

Billy sat down at the table, relieved that Snuffy seemed not to mind making coffee.

"Where's Joey?" Snuffy asked, turning once he'd flipped the switch of the coffee machine.

"Changing the subject?" Billy asked, raising his eyebrows. He didn't want to talk about Joey, not least because he had no fucking clue where Joey had gone and didn't want to admit it. Snuffy could do all kinds of horrible stuff with one tiny piece of information.

"Okay, fine," Snuffy said, joining him at the table. "I suppose you want to know what kinds of classes I'm going to be taking, boring shit like that. Acting, voice, diction, gen ed requirements. Nothing you can't guess. I liked a few of the instructors in my department, but I can tell I'm going to loathe a couple others. Not unlike visiting Regis for the first time, actually."

"I suppose not," Billy said, thinking back to the day his father had taken him to check out the place. His mother had tracked it down, and, as a result, hadn't dared to be the one to take him on the introductory visit. For part of it, a student had taken him around—not Joey, sadly, but Robert Anderson—and there were days when he struggled to remember if he'd even caught a glimpse of Joey in passing that day. Maybe not. His first conscious memory was stepping into his room assignment for summer term and, God, those _eyes_.

"Earth to Billy," Snuffy said, getting up to check on the coffee. "You okay? Where's Joey? You didn't answer me the first time." He came back for the mugs, giving Billy a look that was half hard, half concerned. "Billy? What the—"

Billy wiped his eyes on the back of his hand, quickly. "I'm, uh, not sure."

Snuffy raised his eyebrows, alarmed. "You lost him?"

"No," Billy said, sharply, reaching for a napkin. "That's not what I said. He does this sometimes. I think he wanted some time to himself."

Snuffy gave him a dubious look, then went and poured the coffee. "I doubt he'd fuck off unless he thought you wanted him to. No offense, Billy."

Billy rested his chin in his hands, then covered his eyes.

"C'mon, what did you say to him?" Snuffy asked, and Billy felt him set the cup down next to his elbow. "You have to remember, I have about a year's experience on you in the Joey-handling department."

"Yeah, and it's clear you were fucking brilliant at it," he retorted, uncovering his eyes. "What I said to him is none of your business. Or what he said to me, for that matter."

"I find it worrying," Snuffy said, pointing the sugar spoon at Billy as he took his seat, "that you guys are starting to have fights now, of all times, okay?"

"Me too," Billy admitted, unable to stop more tears from coming. "I'm scared," he said, figuring he owed Snuffy at least a _bit_ of honesty. "I didn't think…"

"Billy, I would love to know if there's a single person on this _planet_ who would think if they were in your situation," Snuffy said, wryly, trying to crack a smile. It didn't work, but Billy took comfort from the gesture even so: Snuffy wasn't subhuman after all.

"I wonder if there are," Billy said, staring at the table. He suddenly didn't want coffee.

"If there are—"

"People in my position," Billy said, reluctantly picking up his mug. "Somewhere in the world."

Snuffy's eyes lit up, as if he'd never thought of it before.

"Jesus, Billy, you've got something there. There's probably no way to find out, though."

"Unless I put out a personal ad," Billy muttered, taking a sip. Man, Snuffy liked it dark.

"That's not very funny," Snuffy said, "but it's good to know you're trying."

Billy gave him the first direct look they'd shared since Snuffy got back.

"Thanks. I think."

"Man, I wish Joey was here just to cut you down for using clichés," Snuffy said, almost grinning.

"Me too," Billy said. "But he never tells me when he's coming back, so I'm going to guess that, if there's something you'd like to do, we might as well start without him."

Immediately, Snuffy looked troubled again. He finished off his coffee.

"Are you sure? We could play cards or something till he shows up."

"He could be gone for hours," Billy said, shaking his head.

"Overnight?" Snuffy asked, a bit too hopefully.

"No, he's not usually gone that long," Billy said, wondering why he'd given Snuffy the benefit of the doubt. This was one fucking rollercoaster he'd had the good sense to fear, but he hadn't even realized he'd let himself step onto it. "He was saying the other day he wanted to go see a movie. Maybe he's down at the cinema watching one after another."

"God, he's a lucky bastard," Snuffy muttered, grabbing Billy's mug. He took them both to the sink, not even bothering to ask Billy if he was finished. Not that it mattered.

"I'm not sure Joey would see it that way," Billy said. "He's facing up to some tough shit at the moment."

"I can't imagine how shit could get any tougher than it was ten months ago," Snuffy said, surprisingly honest, his eyes questioning. "Billy, I have to ask…"

"Try me," Billy said, hoping it wouldn't be an unreasonable question.

Snuffy dried his hands on the dishrag, staring hard at the floor.

"…if you really intend on spending the rest of your life like this," he finished, almost choking on it.

So much for hoping. Calmly, Billy got up from the table and left the kitchen.

"Hey! Hey, come back—"

"I'll be shuffling the cards if you need me," Billy shouted, but he'd actually be sobbing.

* * *

Cecilia was looking better than she'd looked around Easter-time, which was the last time Billy and Joey had seen her together. She'd lost the weight she'd put on carrying J.D., and some of the lines around her eyes and in her forehead seemed to have evaporated. Joey knew his death hadn't been easy on her. They'd always gotten along, and she'd had really high hopes for him. She was the perfect in-law, and she was one of very few people in his family who didn't get nervous when he hung around silently and watched.

Tonight, it looked as if there'd been an explosion in her kitchen, and she was too exhausted to do anything about it. J.D. was babbling in his high chair, arms waving, smiling at Joey as if he was thrilled to see him. He wasn't eating the spoonfuls of baby food Cecilia was trying to feed him, and the cut-up bananas on the tray had been scattered everywhere. Joey wondered if Gina was playing in her room, or maybe napping. Dom didn't seem to be home, which seemed to be part of the source of Cecilia's distress.

"C'mon, honey," she cooed at the baby, coming in for another attempt with the green beans. "You gotta eat sometime. I don't want you crying in the middle of the fuckin' night, you hear me? Gina's miss cranky-pants in the morning because of you."

"Dah," J.D. said, waving his arms and bouncing. He was looking past his mother, straight at Joey. He intoned a string of gibberish, followed by a sigh as he settled into his seat, apparently bewildered. He waved his arms again, starting to pout.

Cecilia lowered the spoon, frustrated, but Joey could tell by the sudden hard set of her shoulders that she was aware of something she hadn't been before. He took a step back, terrified. He hadn't meant to bother her. He'd meant to see if there was anything he could do to help her out. He hadn't expected to find her in the kitchen this late.

She turned her head, slowly, and narrowed her eyes.

Joey swallowed. They were looking right at each other.

"I think maybe you ought to go see Gina," she said, uncertainly, her eyes darting from side to side, up and down. "Just a thought, if you're even there. I swear you are. Somehow. Nonna tells me babies can see guardian angels. I always wanted to tell her she was full of shit"—she stopped, glancing at the floor, a laugh somewhere between there and a sob—"but, you know, the church parking lot. I started to wonder. And then there was Christmas, and Easter, and…sometimes I don't dare turn around, because I might see you." She raised her eyes, looking at Joey again, still unfocused. "I wish," she whispered, and turned back to J.D. "Open your mouth, you little runt!"

"You'd better listen to her," Joey said, his throat tight.

"Buh," agreed the baby, and hesitantly took the bite of green beans.

"There's m'boy," Cecilia said, stirring the jar's contents vigorously. "Another one…"

Joey left the kitchen, wandering the house aimlessly. Was that what denial looked like? If so, it was a healthy kind of denial, and she seemed to be getting on much better than Billy. Even Snuffy seemed to suffer from some kind of mental distress when Joey was around. Billy's words were sinking in, finding places filled with habits that Joey hadn't known he was cultivating. Was he hurting the kids, he wondered? Rosemary? His father? Each question carried Billy's point closer to home. How was he supposed to start Robin-Hooding it if his mere _presence_ was the problem? Cecilia probably would've taken a mysteriously cleaned kitchen the wrong way.

The door to Gina's room was closed, but Joey could hear her inside. He walked through it, not wanting to disturb her more than he had to. She seemed easier with appearances than with unannounced arrivals. Three years old, braids undone, playing with dinosaurs.

"Hey, you," Joey said, crouching down beside her.

Gina gasped, dropping her T-Rex, then turned to grin at him. "Joey!"

"Shhh," Joey said, raising a finger to her lips. "Your mom's busy."

"Shhh," Gina agreed, grimacing. "J.D.'s a bad boy."

"Is he?" Joey asked, picking up the T-Rex. "Why?"

"He won't eat supper," Gina said. "I eat mine," she added, proudly.

"I'm sure you do," Joey said, using the dinosaur's head to poke her belly.

"Mom won't eat supper," Gina said, picking up what looked like an Apatosaurus. She marched it over to Joey's T-Rex, swinging it around to deliver a soft blow with the tail. 

"She won't?" Joey asked, going for the long neck with the T-Rex's teeth. _Probably still dieting_ , he thought.

"Nope," Gina said, slamming into the T-Rex a few times with the Apatosaur's small head. "'Too skinny, too skinny,' Nonna says." She imitated the old woman's voice right down to the heavy Sicilian accent, then burst out in a fit of giggles.

" _Nonna_ is too skinny," Joey said, and grabbed both dinosaurs away so Gina wouldn't get poked on them while he tickled her. She curled up, shrieking louder.

"Joey _stoppitnow_!"

"Aw, shucks, okay," Joey said, and did. Panting, Gina collected herself and stood up in front of him. They were more or less eye-to-eye. She put her hands on her hips.

"Nonna says you're dead," she said, unexpectedly. Not distressed, just…matter-of-fact, as if this were a piece of fascinating gossip that needed to be verified.

"Does she?" Joey echoed, contemplating the advantages of a hasty escape.

"Yeah," said Gina, almost scowling. "I tell her you come play with me, and she says, 'That is-a silly, _bambina_ , he is dead and gone.' I tell her _that_ is a-silly"—she emphasized the old woman's mangling of the word sarcastically—"because if you're gone, then you can't play with me. But are you dead?"

Joey's head was spinning. He'd heard about kids having amazing common sense, but this was something else. He took hold of Gina's hands and pulled them off her hips, bringing them up to his mouth. He kissed one, then the other, and pressed them to his chest.

"Do I have a heartbeat?" he asked, deciding he'd better test this hypothesis for all it was worth.

Gina frowned, then closed her eyes, as if concentrating very hard. After a few seconds, she opened her eyes, frowning even harder. She pulled her hands away, wringing them.

"No," she said, her eyes darkening with doubt.

"Right," Joey said, helplessly, uncertain of how to move forward.

"Does that mean you're dead?" Gina asked, knitting her fingers together and turning her clasped hands inside out.

"Well, it…yes, when somebody's heart stops, they're usually dead," Joey said, realizing he'd gone down the wrong path. "It's just…yeah, Gina. I'm dead."

Gina spent the next few seconds not blinking at all, which Joey hadn't thought possible for a three year-old. Unconsciously, he cowered, hoping he'd vanish involuntarily.

"I don't like to think about that," Gina sighed, in the put upon way that only a toddler can. She put her hands back on her hips. "You could've told me, moron."

Oh, Jesus. Had she learned that one from Billy?

"Yes, I could've told you," Joey said, "but I thought everyone else was telling you enough."

"Mom misses you," Gina said, shaking a finger at him. "Why don't you visit her?"

"I do," Joey said, standing up, unable to bear the sensation of being looked down upon any longer. "She can't see me, though."

"Nonna can't see you, either. Or Great-Uncle Al."

"No, my dad can't see me," Joey said, startled by his father's sudden entry into the conversation. "Neither can your dad, and neither can Tad."

"That rhymed," Gina said, smiling, but turned serious again. "Can't you make them see you? Can't you not be gone for them, too?"

"I think I have to be gone for them," Joey said. "And no, I can't make them see me. I can't make anyone see me. Some people see me, and some people don't."

"J.D. sees you," Gina said. "I'm trying to teach him not to get you in trouble."

"He can't talk yet," Joey said, feeling mildly relieved. "Don't worry so much."

"He's starting," Gina said, darkly. "He waves his arms and goes, 'Dah bah boo wuh.'"

"You like quoting people, don't you?" Joey asked, grinning at her.

"Yes," Gina said, staring at the dinosaurs on her floor with a guilty look.

Joey glanced around her room, suddenly realizing the place was a complete disaster.

"What's wrong?"

"Mom will yell," Gina said. "She's dumb. I can't find stuff if she cleans up."

Joey picked up the T-Rex and the Apatosaur. "Why don't we clean up, but put stuff where you can find it?"

Gina's eyes lit up, as if she hadn't realized cleaning up her own messes would result in less misplacement of her possessions. "Yeah! Good idea!"

Two hours later, Joey left her with the last few dinosaurs and an apology. 

He'd been gone too long.

* * *

Billy spent about an hour shuffling cards, playing solitaire, and practicing the art of crying in silence. At one point, he thought he'd heard Snuffy's footsteps in the hall, but his listening was interrupted by the sound of his mother's key in the front door. Then voices—Snuffy's and his mother's—migrating to the living room, soon to be drowned out by the television. Billy gave up on the cards, brushing them all off the bed and onto the air mattress. If Snuffy wanted to socialize with Billy's mother, he could clean up the mess. Billy flopped back onto his pillows, wrinkling his nose at the soggy pile of Kleenex under his arm. Still, he felt instantly exhausted.

"Billy."

Silence, darkness. Billy sat up with a start, but Joey's hand was on his arm, making it hard to actually topple off the other side of the bed. He recovered himself and crawled over to Joey, shaking. He wondered vaguely if it would take a crowbar to pry them apart. Billy gasped, testing his breath, and re-buried his face in Joey's hair.

"Where the fuck _were_ you?"

"Helping Gina clean her room," Joey said, unexpectedly.

"Um—what?"

"I didn't think you'd believe me," Joey said. There was a grin in his voice, but it was a sad one.

"You get upset when you spend too much time down there," Billy said, before he could stop himself.

"No, I get what I deserve when I spend too much time down there," Joey said, finally breaking the embrace and sitting back to look at him. "The only thing that keeps Ceci from seeing me is her stellar grasp on reality. The kids, not so much."

"J.D. isn't talking yet, is he?" Billy asked, incredulously.

"No, but it won't be long," Joey said, folding his arms across his chest. "Trouble."

"Do you think so?" Billy asked, brushing Joey's hair out of his eyes.

"Gina does," Joey replied, folding his arms tighter. "She says she's teaching him how to behave when I'm around. So far, I don't think it's working."

"It will," Billy said. "Give it time."

"She's figured out I'm dead," Joey said, slumping against Billy's shoulder.

"I sort of thought she already knew that," Billy said, frowning. "Sort of."

"I think she knows it literally, now," Joey said. "But she draws a very definite line between 'dead' and 'gone.' She knows I'm dead, but I'm not gone—and for her, that's true. I'm not gone. I'm there all the time. For the people who can see me, I'm not gone."

"You don't seem gone for Ceci, either, if what you say is true."

"Yeah, but that's different," Joey sighed. "Somehow."

Billy stroked his hair in silence for a few moments, uncertain of what to say.

"This is getting us nowhere. D'you want to see what Snuffy's up to?"

"Not really," Joey said. "I heard him and your mom laughing their heads off in the living room."

"No shit," Billy said, disentangling himself from Joey, stretching. "That's why we ought to go see."

"Billy, has it occurred to you that maybe Snuffy doesn't want to be rescued? He's gonna use your mom to get back at Hank. And it is going to _suck_. Royally."

"Fucking shit," Billy said, horrified. "You're right."

"I'm not sure what's worse," Joey said, hopping off the bed. "Snuffy seducing your mom or your mom seducing Snuffy. Let me tell you, it's only a matter of which happens first."

"I don't think it will _matter_ which happens first," Billy said, frowning at the carpet. He got up off the bed and paced around on the air mattress. Cards bent under his feet, scattering this way and that. He picked up the Queen of Spades, then looked up.

Joey was turning the Jack of Hearts over in both hands, thoughtful.

"Gotta stop him," he muttered.

"I've got to stop _her_ ," Billy agreed, waving the card at Joey before dropping it. Joey let go of the Jack almost simultaneously, watching it flutter to the floor.

"Deal," Joey said, offering Billy his hand.

"Yeah," Billy said, using the offer to tug Joey in. The air mattress wobbled under them.

"It's fair," Joey said, winding both arms around Billy's neck. "Snuffy can see me."

"Yeah, and Mom can see me whether she likes it or not," Billy agreed. "Fair as it gets."

"Great," Joey said, dragging Billy back over to the bed. "In the meantime, I haven't seen you all day."

Dimly, Billy realized that this was either going to go brilliantly or ruin them just a little bit more, slowly but surely. But Joey was as warm as he'd always been, and Billy's body wanted this even if his mind was divided. If Joey noticed the distance, he said nothing—and gave, and gave, and _gave_. Billy came, hard, swallowing another sob. They were mostly decent again by the time Snuffy knocked on the door. _Small favors_ , Billy thought, and sat up in a hurry. Joey was already off the bed.

"Will I regret it if I walk in there?"

"No," Billy said, buttoning his shirt. "Only if you'll regret fishing all 52 cards out of your bedclothes."

"You're a bastard," Snuffy said, making his usual grand entrance. His eyes landed on Joey, who was doing something really odd ( _or really Italian_ , Billy thought) with the Kings, Queens, Jacks, and Aces. He waved at Snuffy, completely unconcerned.

"Don't mind if I help," he said, absently.

Billy just exchanged glances with Snuffy, shrugging.

"Strip poker, anyone?" Snuffy asked, bending to pick up the nearest cards.

"No," said Billy and Joey, in unison.

Between the three of them, the job was quick and the card games quicker.

* * *

It wasn't until the next morning that Joey realized the whole plan was probably doomed. The first tip-off was that Snuffy wasn't on the air mattress. Joey tried to shake Billy awake (which rarely worked on the first try), gave up, and went straight to the kitchen.

Barbara was making coffee, and Snuffy was sitting at the table—without his pajama top—listening intently while she chattered about one of her clients. Did he honestly find that shit _interesting_? Joey hung in the doorway, waving until he managed to catch Snuffy's attention. Snuffy jumped a little in his seat, turning impressively pale.

"I'm sure she appreciates the fashion statement," Joey said, deciding another slide-right-into-the-chair was in order. "Don't mind if I join you?"

Snuffy pressed his lips together in a straight, thin line, as if it was taking all his effort.

"…because of that, we couldn't finalize the sale. One of the most sought-after pieces of property on the Cape. Can you _believe_ that?" asked Barbara, turning around with a mug in each hand. She carried them over to the table, set one down in front of Snuffy, and made as if she was going to take the seat across from him—which Joey had already taken. Fucking _shit_.

"Don't just sit there, _do_ something!" he yelled, gesturing at Snuffy.

Snapping out of his trance, Snuffy got up and pulled out the chair caddy-corner. "Here," he said, beckoning Barbara over. "Why so far away?"

Barbara stopped, her expression somewhere between pleased and amused. "That's very kind of you, Jonathan," she said, and took the seat he was offering instead.

Joey let out a sigh of relief, giving Snuffy a thumbs-up—which he nixed just as quickly, scowling. "Do you have any idea what you're getting yourself into?"

Snuffy just glared at him, then sat back down again. "I'd have snapped it up in a heartbeat," he told Barbara, smiling in an inexplicable, sickly-sweet manner.

"Ugh," Joey said, leaning heavily on his elbows. He didn't want to watch, but he didn't have a chance in hell of stopping Snuffy if he didn't keep at it till Billy woke up and joined them. "Snuff, that's—oh, for God's sake, don't _touch_ her, agh!"

Snuffy kissed Barbara's hand, looking straight at Joey, then let go if it.

"I've been meaning to ask," Barbara said, as if Snuffy had managed to take her aback, "why they call you Snuffy. It's such an inelegant nickname. It doesn't suit."

Snuffy gave Joey a saintly, persecuted look. "Well, it's pretty easy to pick up when you're allergic to almost everything," he said, transferring the look to Barbara.

"My son didn't have anything to do with it, did he?" Barbara asked, her voice edged with annoyance.

Snuffy gave Joey another glance, this one almost a dare. 

"That would be lying," Joey said, "and you know it."

 _Spoilsport_ , said Snuffy's eyes, but he turned to Barbara and admitted, "No—it predates Billy's arrival at Regis by about two years. Boring story."

"I'd like to hear it," Barbara said, sounding genuinely curious (and genuinely guilty on account).

"Nah, I don't think so," said Billy, yawning as he walked into the room. He took in the tableau with sleep-glazed eyes, which didn't stay sleep-glazed for much longer. Joey gave him a wide-eyed, help-me-out-here plea, and Snuffy looked as if he wanted to kill them both. Before Barbara had the chance to push the issue, Billy had opened the refrigerator.

"So, what're we having?"

"I thought I'd let you boys decide," Barbara said, brusquely, getting up. "I have to leave early today, so I'm afraid I can't join you." With that, she left the kitchen.

"Man, just when things were getting good," Joey said, sarcastically.

"I can't believe this," Billy said, slamming the refrigerator. "What the _hell_ are you thinking?"

"We've already established that thinking is considered overrated in this household," Snuffy said, slurping his coffee. "None of your goddamned business."

"Oh, I think it's my business, all right," Billy said, smacking him across the back of the head. "This is my _mother_ we're talking about. Do you have any idea where she's been?"

"Augh," Joey said, sticking his fingers in his ears, which didn't help. He could guess.

"Unlike some people, I'm not obsessed with other people's sexual histories," Snuffy said, casually, carrying his sloshed coffee mug over to the sink and wiping his chin off on the dish towel. "Your mom seems like the sensible type. I shouldn't have to run a background check."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this," Billy said.

"You're the one who suggested it," Snuffy said, finishing his coffee with a bottoms-up grin.

"Augh," Joey said again, and got up from the table. "That's sick. No more."

"You were the one who called it," Billy reminded him.

"Yeah, and I regret it," Joey said, taking his fingers out of his ears. "It's not my fault I know him too well."

"Hey," Snuffy said. "I'm still _here_."

"Well, now you know what it feels like," Joey said, closing the distance between himself and Billy. "Listen, if this is gonna get out of hand, I quit. Snuffy can catch everything under the sun from her, for all I care. Maybe it'd be good for him."

"I can't believe you guys think she's got—"

"Shut up," Billy said, irritably. "It's not that I _want_ to think she's got something, and it's not that I think she's stupid, either, but—never mind, she _is_ stupid. And I would like to see you not care about the average number of men she sleeps with per year."

"Try me," Snuffy said, sarcastically. What was _that_ all about?

"Maybe fifteen or twenty."

"Get out of here," Joey said, sickened and fascinated all at once. " _Really_?"

"That's not counting what goes on when I'm not around, granted," Billy admitted. "Can we drop the subject and get back to you not hitting on her?" he asked, turning to Snuffy.

"That's a lot of experience," Snuffy said, thoughtfully.

"Augh!"

Billy looked even more traumatized than Joey felt, and he thought they'd already hit rock bottom. Snuffy was smirking at them as if this was some kind of twisted victory.

"I can't tell you what not to do," Billy said, finally. "I'm not your babysitter. But I'm leaving you with those words of wisdom, got it?"

Joey couldn't think of anything to say, except maybe another _augh_ , so he didn't.

"Yeah, whatever," Snuffy said, rolling his eyes. "Honest to God, I didn't think it would be so easy to pull you guys' legs."

Billy blinked at him for a couple of seconds, but the next, he was right in Snuffy's face.

"You had better be telling the truth."

Snuffy raised both hands, using them to shove Billy away by the shoulders.

"Hey, hey, relax," he said. "Fuck yeah, I'm kidding! You should've seen the look on your face!"

Billy's expression suggested that he wasn't amused, but it also suggested that he knew a well-pulled prank when he saw one. "Fine," he said, and left the room. "Have fun at orientation, and try not to take any more asshole lessons, got it?"

A few minutes later, Joey found himself standing in the kitchen alone.

Whatever had just happened was either very, very good, or very, very bad. He joined Billy in the living room and sat down on the couch beside him. An old episode of _Whose Line Is It Anyway?_ was on television. He snuggled up to Billy.

"I don't trust him for a second," Joey admitted.

"Nope," Billy sighed, working an arm around him. "Me neither."

Joey could almost believe that things were going back to normal, or what passed for it.

* * *

It was as if some switch in his body had been flipped: Billy was having _trouble_ getting to sleep. Dinner with his mother and Snuffy had been painfully awkward, as there didn't seem to be anything he could possibly say to his mother—or anything Joey could say or do to Snuffy, no matter how outrageous or unexpected—that would stop the two of them from flirting. The situation was rapidly nearing the top of Billy's Impossible Shit list. He'd started the list right around the time Joey had returned to him.

"You're restless," Joey whispered, turning so that his forehead touched Billy's.

"Yeah," Billy admitted. He raised his head and glanced over Joey's shoulder at the floor, just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating Snuffy's snoring. He wasn't. At least Snuffy hadn't tried to sneak out and go to his mom's room. Yet.

"Maybe he does deserve it," Joey said, tugging on Billy's shoulder. "Why should we even try? I've been thinking, he's only here two more days, we should just let—"

"No way," Billy said. "You're not getting out of this one."

"Billy," Joey said, raising himself up on one elbow, "I'm fucking _tired_ , okay?"

"Then why don't you try to get some sleep?"

"I don't need it," Joey said, his eyes falling as if he regretted saying it.

"C'mon, of course you do. Just because you don't really get tired doesn't mean sleep isn't good for you."

"I'm not sure I follow," Joey said, picking at the sheet. "You do realize I haven't slept in about two weeks?"

Billy stared at him. The thought just didn't process: Joey, not sleeping, Joey who never stayed away from him, who still shared his bed, who scolded him for stealing the blankets, who was usually there in the morning to ask Billy how he'd slept.

"No lie," Joey said, pensively. "I've given it up. Temporarily, anyway."

"Why?" Billy asked. It was all he could force out, given his breath had left him.

Even in the dark, he could tell Joey's eyes were pained.

"I'm not sure you want—"

"I know fucking well what I want," Billy whispered, fiercely. "Out with it."

Joey grabbed Billy's wrist, twisting his fingers around it until Billy hissed in pain.

"I don't dream," he said, each word clearly a trial.

"You—don't?" Billy asked. "And you realized this…when?"

"Just recently," Joey admitted, letting go of Billy's wrist. "I'm not sure how I missed it."

"With dreams like the ones you always had, I can definitely come up with a few theories as to why you don't miss it," Billy muttered, running his fingers up Joey's side. He had to pretend that this wasn't disturbing. He had to look at it as just another change.

"Billy, it freaks me out, okay?" Joey asked, pleading. He sounded near tears.

"I…um, I can understand that," Billy said, holding him close. "I'd be freaked out if I stopped dreaming, too."

"Have you ever stopped dreaming?"

"For months at a time, yeah," Billy said, grasping at a shred of hope. "I think that's normal."

"I thought I was dreaming when I saw my mom," Joey said. "You know, before I ended up in Gould's office."

Billy closed his eyes. "Um, which time in Gould's office?"

"Afterward," Joey said, numbly.

"Right," Billy said, forcing his breath back into his lungs. "And…after, when you started sleeping, did…"

"No," Joey said. "Never. I haven't. Not a single dream." Tears on Billy's shoulder, hot and real.

"Joey, I wish I could tell you why," Billy managed, tightening his fingers in Joey's hair, wondering if Joey felt pain, "but I can't."

"It's okay," Joey mumbled. "Didn't think so."

Billy squeezed his eyes shut more tightly, grasping at the farthest edges of his consciousness. "Do…do you think she could tell you why?"

Joey laughed, loud and unexpected. Snuffy groaned, kicking the side of Billy's mattress.

"Would you guys shut the fuck up?"

"No," Joey said, then tapped Billy's shoulder. "No," he said, even softer. "I don't even know how to get in touch with her, let alone ask her a simple question."

"Keep thinking about it," Billy said, finally opening his eyes. "Maybe that'll get her attention."

"I think maybe I'm afraid it will," Joey said, and was silent.

After long moments of uncertainty, Billy felt his eyelids grow heavy. Clinging to Joey, he let them close. When he opened them again, his room was flooded with light. Joey and Snuffy were both gone, which meant that Snuffy had snuck off again and that Joey was already hot on the trail, no matter how sick of it all he'd claimed to be.

If that wasn't enough to give them hope, at least for the moment, Billy wasn't sure what was. He found his t-shirt and shrugged into it, then crept quietly down the hall to the kitchen. He could hear voices, but his mother's wasn't one of them.

"You've got to be kidding me," Snuffy was saying, leaning across the table so far that it looked like he was trying to nosedive into Joey. " _Are_ you kidding me?"

"Nope," Joey said, sitting back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. "I've been here when she's brought somebody in. If you haven't seen her this morning, it definitely means she didn't come back from the club alone last night."

"I knew we should've taken her up on the invitation," Snuffy said, almost guiltily.

"That would've been a bad idea for any number of reasons," Billy said, stretching as he took the seat caddy corner to Snuffy. "So, who's making breakfast?"

"Would you mind?" Joey asked, getting up eagerly.

Snuffy looked horrified at the suggestion. "What if she—"

"She won't," Billy said. "Not till we leave the house or hole ourselves up in my room or something. Go ahead, Joey."

"Thanks," Joey said, and dove into the floor-level cupboards.

Under his breath, Snuffy muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Just when I thought I had a chance."

Billy got up and fetched some mugs from the cupboard, pretending he hadn't heard.

* * *

After making breakfast for Billy and Snuffy, Joey excused himself. They asked him where he was going, but he begged off telling them, claiming that it was incredibly boring and that they wouldn't want to waste half the day driving down to Jersey just to find out. Snuffy had groaned, waving him off, and Billy had given him a _be careful_ look.

At the moment, what Joey was seeing was not happening in New Jersey. It was happening in Barbara's vast bedroom, and it actually wasn't all that interesting. Barbara and the guy were both fast asleep. There was an empty wine bottle on the floor. A bit of nosing around turned up a second wine bottle and some pieces of lingerie that reminded Joey of some of the shit in that costume shop in New Orleans. He left before something about his presence in the room could manage to touch either of the sleepers.

Joey hadn't entirely been lying about his plans to go to Jersey, though. He had a few things to clear up with Nonna, but he wasn't sure how. Regardless, he was sure the old woman wasn't going to like it. She considered any feeling out of the ordinary as something sent by the Devil himself to personally torment her, or something like that.

She wasn't alone when Joey arrived in her small living room. Joey's father was there, balancing a cup of tea on the arm of his chair while his mother lectured him about, of all things, the way the church bingo nights were going downhill due to a lack of volunteers.

"That and they are dying like flies," she added, and Albert just nodded sympathetically.

"Have you considered volunteering yourself?" he asked.

Joey froze in the doorway. This, he _had_ to hear.

Nonna sniffed, straightening her knitting in her lap. "It is men's work, _Alberto_."

"You're more capable than all the men in the parish put together, and I think you know that," said Albert, smiling as he took a sip of tea. Joey had never heard him talk like that before, let alone to his own mother. He had taken a few steps into the room in spite of himself.

Suddenly, Nonna sat up straight, her knitting forgotten.

" _Mama_ , are you all right?" his father asked, softly.

"I thought I have told you," she said, slowly and clearly, "to go far away from here."

Joey glanced at his father, who looked momentarily stricken.

"No, I'm afraid you—"

"I am not talking with you, _Alberto_. Be quiet." Nonna was looking more or less in Joey's direction, her black eyes inscrutable. "I know you are there. I am sorry I call you a devil, well, I was not to think so clearly that day. _Mea culpa_."

Joey swallowed, trying to find his voice. "You don't want me here?"

"I want you where you must go to, _si_ , not in the rooms and the halls, _mio dio_ , to scare a poor old woman. I know you are not gone."

Joey glanced at his father again. Albert sat in silence, but he had a hunted look.

"What if I'm where I'm supposed to be?" Joey asked, glancing back at Nonna.

"You must not be here," Nonna said, shaking a finger vaguely in his direction, and for the first time Joey understood where Gina had gotten the gesture. "You must go to him, you must go to the children, but you must leave us poor old folk be."

"What if I worry about you?"

" _Mama_ ," Albert said again, quietly. "If you'd rather I went—"

"No," Nonna said, sharply, giving her son a piercing glance. "You must hear this."

Joey was almost standing between the two of them. Frozen. Trapped. It was crossfire of some kind; he could feel the air on fire, just as Billy had described it. He wondered…

"Uriel?"

"Yes, that is good," said Nonna, sitting back for the first time in the exchange. "Call the angels, they come to you. They will keep you."

"Shut up," Joey snapped, irritated. He was trying to concentrate on the way the air felt, on the tension that seemed to be quickly slipping away, if he could only—" _Uriel_."

"I was wondering when you'd request a word," she said, looking up from where she sat cross-legged in front of the fireplace. Her unremarkable dirty blond hair was a bit longer than Joey remembered it, but she had the same tired look in her pale eyes.

"Do you do this kind of shit for fun?" Joey asked, crouching down in front of her. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to hit her or hug her. Neither seemed appropriate.

"Not really," Uriel admitted, stretching her legs, "but there's a colleague of mine who's leveled the accusation on more than one occasion. No, Joey: I simply wait till people come to their senses, and then I answer them. What's ailing you, then?"

Joey was flabbergasted. His father and Nonna were already talking again, but he was too dazed to try and pay attention. Almost instantly, he realized that the room was fading around him and Uriel, and that another set of surroundings were coming into focus. He stood up, glancing around. Billy's bedroom, still a mess. Billy and Snuffy weren't there. Uriel was sitting on Billy's bed, and Joey was standing…in the air mattress. His feet were touching the floor. He lifted them one by one, bouncing on air. Better.

"I have to say, your manipulation skills are something else," Uriel said, her eyes flicking up from his feet to his face. "You were aware of your surroundings and how you related to them ten times quicker than any of my…recent cases."

"You talk like Billy's mom's shrink," Joey said, then realized something. "Is that what you are?"

"What?" For a supernatural creature, Uriel was good at looking genuinely confused.

"My shrink," Joey said, flatly, folding his arms.

"If you want to look at it that way, yes," she said, folding her arms across her knees, directly mimicking Joey. She rested her chin on her arms. "If you're having some kind of difficulties, now would be the time to tell me. I'm a busy person, Joey Trotta."

"Fine, okay," Joey said, stepping from the air mattress over to the bed. He sat down, sighing, folding his hands in his lap. "I'm not dreaming anymore. Or I don't think I've dreamed at all since I've died. Why?"

Uriel ran one hand through her hair, clearly trying to avoid looking at him.

"It varies," she said, her voice soft and honest. "Some people ask me why they can't _stop_ dreaming, even when they're awake. Yes, I mean the dead. And some ask me the same question you've just asked, and all I can say is what I've just said to you, only vice versa. I'm sure you're terribly disappointed to discover that there's no morbid connection to the 'sleep of death' your bloody poets are always talking about in some guise or another. For the dreamless, it sometimes comes back; for the plagued, it sometimes stops. Sometimes it goes back to normal, dreams now and then, but sometimes things stay just as they are. You have other things to worry about."

"Yeah," Joey said. "Billy."

"You can tell him he's right about the depression, for starters."

Joey squeezed his eyes shut, and the pieces fell into place. "Oh, Jesus."

"Now, none of that," Uriel said, and Joey felt the mattress sag as she got up.

"Sorry," he said, opening his eyes. "So, Billy should be talking to you instead."

"No, Billy should probably be talking to his mother's therapist."

"Not in a million years," Joey said, standing up to join her. "He thinks Dr. Webster is a hack."

Uriel's lips twisted into something like a smile. "He thinks Dr. Webster is a hack because all he really knows about Dr. Webster comes from his mother, and he's not that inclined to listen to her. Dr. Webster is a very capable psychiatrist, and his wife is a charming woman. I've met her."

"Oh, fucking fuck," Joey muttered. The man in the bedroom—

"He's lost someone. He's learning what it means to be foolish."

"I see," Joey said. "Just as long as he doesn't tell Billy to get laid. His mom's already tried that, and he wasn't too happy about it."

"I hardly think getting laid is the issue," said Uriel, dourly.

With astonishment, Joey felt himself blush.

"Well, I'd love to stay longer—I really would, trust me—but I've got to be going," Uriel said, briefly pausing in front of Billy's mirror to straighten her earrings. "Your mother is going to want to know I've seen you, and a visit's worth it because her tea is much better than my colleague's."

"My mother," Joey echoed. "Your colleague?"

"Some other time," Uriel said, already fading. "Do try to call only in emergency, please?"

"Sure," Joey said, and she was gone.

"Talking to yourself?" Snuffy asked, bursting through the bedroom door. Billy was about two steps behind him, looking somewhat alarmed.

"I heard voices," he insisted. "I heard a woman's voice. Did my mom see you?"

"Your mom's not here," Joey pointed out, making a sweeping gesture.

"Right, well, I heard voices. Who were you talking to?"

"I only heard Joey," Snuffy volunteered.

"I'll tell you later," Joey said, ignoring Snuffy's confusion. Billy looked pale.

"It was her."

"Yes," Joey admitted, wishing he'd stop this line of conversation.

"Bad news?" Billy asked, his voice tight.

"No, genius," Joey said, spreading his arms. "I'm still standing here, huh?"

"Yeah," Billy said, his voice dripping with relief. "Good news?"

"Yes," Joey said, vaguely. "Can we not talk about this?"

"I would like very much if we could talk about this," Snuffy said, glancing back and forth between them wildly.

"Some other time," said Billy, collapsing on the edge of the bed. "Guess who we just met?"

"Your mom's shrink?" Joey asked, instantly wishing he hadn't.

"You fucking spy," Snuffy muttered.

"I wasn't—"

"He's not that bad, actually," Billy was saying. "We shot the breeze, and I swear, he's not the total douchebag I expected. I might go talk to him. Without Mom arranging things, of course. Whether I'm seeing a shrink or not isn't her business."

Snuffy made a huffish sound. "Whether she's seeing her shrink or not _is_ mine, so—"

Billy and Joey both burst out laughing.

"Yeah," Billy said, wiping a couple of tears off his cheeks. "You have fun with that."

Too relieved for words, Joey went over and sat down beside him on the mattress. Uriel had left a vaguely womanly indentation, but Billy wasn't likely to notice.

"Blow me," Snuffy said, and left the room.

"That went well," Joey said, scooting over just enough to rest his chin on Billy's shoulder. "Wouldn't you say?"

"I'd say," Billy said, kissing the top of Joey's head, "that you're crazy."

Truth be told, if that was what crazy felt like, Joey decided, then they would be fine. Not right away, but closer than they'd been. 

It wouldn't keep him from dreaming of the time.


End file.
